


When the Dry Season Ends

by PassiveGood



Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Bathtub Sex, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Other, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PassiveGood/pseuds/PassiveGood
Summary: The 30 Day OTP Challenge featuring everyone's favorite fishman and mute cleaning lady.





	1. Holding Hands

She’s sitting in one end of the tub with her legs crossed in front of her and he’s sitting across her, his legs placed on either side of her. She’s looking at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, waiting for him to make a move, almost challenging him as she raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, he leans forward and takes her hand in his and even though it’s such a simple gesture that they did many times before, she can’t help but smile at the sight. She holds her palm upward and stretches her fingers so that their hands are facing each other, touching. She glances at their joint hands and then at him, his fingers tower over hers and he tilts his head with a thoughtful expression on his face; she can almost hear what’s racing through his mind. He lets his hand fall back into the water and with his other one, he traces the V-shaped space between her fingers and taps on her short nails with the pads of his index finger before curling his webbed palm around them. She chuckles, then moves her body so that she’s hovering above him; in the past couple of days she’s mastered the art of moving effortlessly in the incommodious tub. She puts his free hand around his neck as she slowly closes the gap between them.

Exploring his body has become her favorite pastime; seeing how he shudders under her touch, how his muscles contract when her fingers brush along his abdomen, how his scales change color when she caresses him. She observes what he likes and what he doesn’t; how he growls softly when she kisses along his jawline or neck, how his gills flutter when she looks into his eyes. To her pleasure, he is equally curious about her body. He seems to be fascinated not only with her hands and their lack of webs, but with her hair and her soft skin as well. She discovers whole universes in his twinkling scales and it feels like he does the same as he slides his finger from one birthmark to the next, creating a map of her own constellations. It amazes her that someone as beautiful and godlike as him would be fascinated by _her_. His claws sometimes get caught in her hair, sometimes she forgets that he needs to dip underwater from time to time and kisses him for too long until his gills are fluttering (even though he never wants to break the kiss), but she wouldn’t have it any other way. His movements are always gentle, he’s careful with his claws, retracting them halfway and making sure that he touches her with the pads of his fingers or that he scratches her in a way that doesn’t tear at her skin. She has a few claw marks running along her back, but they burn in the sweetest possible way.

She understands now with staggering clarity that all her life was leading up to moments like this; the bathwater is gently rocking around them as they move to a synchronized rhythm. Her face is flushed when she sits up on her knees, straddling him. Her hands are on his chest, but she lifts one up and clenches her fist, then lifts her pinkie and her index finger, followed by her thumb. He blinks at her questioningly; eyes wide with curiosity but clouded with passion. She hasn’t taught him this particular sign yet, it wasn’t needed, it remained unsaid, but it was felt and that was enough. She leans in to kiss him and presses the sign to his chest, right above his beating heart, wishing to ingrain it into his flesh forever. He covers her signing hand with his while his other arm curls around her back to pull her closer, if that’s possible. Her eyes are closed but she can see his pulsating light through her lids, his chest and shoulders flashing with a bright gold glow and a mellow pink undertone; colors that she has come to associate with happiness, and as his way of saying what she just signed.

She feels as if her heart could burst any second, but she keeps it together, afraid of losing it again after almost having it shatter to a million pieces. The trauma still blazes fresh in her mind, she’s been practically inseparable from him ever since, and him from her. She can’t remember the last time she put on clothes instead of just wrapping the bathrobe around herself for the few minutes she spends outside the small bathroom. But she quickly banishes the bitter memories from her mind and concentrates on how the tiny scales of his palms feel on the delicate skin at the small of her back. She buries her face in his neck and gives in to the sensations that are now familiar and yet feel new each time. Her nails dig into his shoulders, loosening a few shimmery scales that are now clinging to her fingers like a second skin. The water around them is alive with the cerulean blues, sunflower yellows and rosy pinks, and in turn she’s alive in it as well. He abruptly pushes with his feet, so he can sit up; his hands are wrapped tight around her back as he changes position, never wanting to lose contact. Her nails rake across his shoulders. His low grunts and her own heavy panting are ringing in her ears as she bites down softly on his neck, right below his gills. Water splurges out of the tub, but she doesn’t care, hasn’t for a while. He chirps happily and a smile spreads across her cheeks that she has pressed against his temple. Just as he has learned her signs, she’s also become versed in what his sounds mean; she knows every hiss, every trill and every groan. Her thighs begin to tremble, and her breathing quickens in pace as she arches her back, pressing into the contact and he growls in approval. The air is cold against her wet skin, but warmth is spreading through her legs and to her feet, up her chest and to the tips of her fingers; as her body stretches, pleasure lapping over her body like surging waves.

The splashing subsides, and the apartment is now quiet except for their breathing and the sounds of the movie theatre coming from below. She is lying on him now and her right hand submerges under the surface to find his, she feels how wrinkly the tips of her fingers are from the water as she intertwines them with his, but she never wants them to be smooth again.


	2. Doing Something Ridiculous

Baking proves to be quite challenging when you have an amphibian man constantly eating the raw eggs before you can mix them into the batter, she thinks to herself as she slaps his hand for the umpteenth time, so he won’t steal another egg from the holder. He grunts in annoyance and she rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to the recipe. He’s peeking above her shoulders, attentively following her every move, chirping excitedly when she cracks one egg open, but then slouching when he realizes he isn’t going to get it. She chuckles at his curiosity, he’s always so eager to learn, always so bright eyed, as if every little thing she does is magic. She purses her lips as she counts the remaining eggs, it’s not going to be enough if she wants to stick to the recipe. She turns and crosses her arms, trying to look sullen but she can never keep that up for long when it comes to him. She sighs and then signs, she has to run down to corner store.

She quickly throws on her red coat and glances at him once more when she’s already in the doorway; he’s standing awkwardly in the kitchenette, not quite sure what to do with himself. She gives him a reassuring smile before closing the door and hurrying down the hallway.

* * *

 Damn the Friday afternoon crowds, she’s been standing in line for God knows how long, and even though she trusts him, she’s unable to stop her mind from conjuring up images of every possible worst-case scenario she can think of; what if he accidently turns the stove on and burns down her – _their_ , she corrects herself – apartment, what if he cuts himself with one of the knives lying around… When it’s finally her turn, she ignores the strange look the cashier gives her upon seeing the countless egg cartons lying in her cart.

She almost drops the eggs as she scrambles up the fire escape while also trying to fish her keys out of her pocket. But she doesn’t need them. The door is unlocked. She holds her mind back from wading into dark theorization. Maybe Giles came over. He has a key. She doesn’t notice the quiet at first when she enters her apartment, but when she turns around after closing the door, it’s clear that he is no longer in the kitchen. Her heart starts to race but she tries to remain calm, maybe he just needed to get back into the water, after all, she’s been away for quite a while. Everything is just as she had left it, except that the cupboard is open, but she knows all too well that he has an explorative nature. She drops her bags on the dining the table, then anxiously goes to look into the bathroom, but he isn’t there. She looks around every corner in the tiny apartment, but he isn’t anywhere. Her stomach sinks lower and lower as she rushes out to the hallway and starts banging on Giles’ door. However, she doesn’t wait for the answer when she hears the noises coming from her friend’s apartment; she slams the door open and barges in.

The scene unfolding in front of her makes her stop in her tracks. He’s standing on the couch with one leg propped on the backrest. He has some kind of bottle in his left hand, holding it high above the ground while his right hand is all over Giles’ face, trying to keep him away as the old man’s struggling to climb up after him. He’s grunting persistently, and Giles is cursing under his breath, he’s reaching for the bottle, but it’s out of reach and he can’t get close enough to take it from him. Although she doesn’t quite understand the situation, relief washes over her, and she feels laughter bubbling her belly. She bangs her hand on the wall so that they notice her. They both turn their heads in unison, his gills flutter and he chirps excitedly at the sight of her.

“Oh, thank God,” Giles says with a heavy sigh. “He won’t give it to me!”

Elisa squints her eyes to better see what exactly he’s got in his hand. She gasps when she realizes that it’s the bottle of wine she got after they broke him out of the lab. She rarely drinks, but she guessed if there ever was a time when they could use some booze, it was after stealing a highly classified creature from a government facility. She never got to opening it, forgetting it completely in the midst of the unfolding events. He must have found it in the cupboard. Before she can give it more thought or notice that the bottle almost completely empty, he’s jumping off the couch and crossing the room in two big strides. His gills wiggle as he throws his arms around her, picks her up and twirls her around; she can’t help but laugh. He bends down and sloppily presses his lips to hers, she’s so taken aback by his brazen behavior that it takes a few seconds until she reciprocates the kiss. He tastes like red wine mixed with the ocean, she drinks in the flavor as he's pulling her in so that they’re flush against each other. He doesn’t want there to be any space between them ever again, but she can’t contain the grin spreading across her face, so she breaks the kiss and pushes him back a bit, blushing faintly because Giles is standing right there.

 _What did you do?_ She signs with a smile and then cups his face with her hands, gently rubbing his cheek with her thumb while he’s trying to focus his intoxicated eyes. It's the perfect opportunity for Giles to snag the bottle from his grasp and he does exactly that. The creature squawks in response, the tinge of sadness in his voice almost making Giles wanting to give it back to him.

“That’s enough, my boy, you clearly can’t handle your liquor.” He says and tries to keep his tone stern. The creature hangs his head and looks at Elisa with questioning eyes but she only nods, agreeing with Giles. He grunts, but it comes off as more of a hiccup than an actual grunt. She giggles at the sound he makes, and he starts gleaming upon seeing her laugh. His glimmering is all over the place, rapidly changing from lurid purple to emerald green to primrose yellow. It’s clear that he can’t control it; her smile softens, he seems to be puzzled by the reaction of his own body. He spins in confusion, she’s never seen him move in such a clunky way. Elisa chuckles and shakes her head when he wobbles precariously, her hand automatically wrapping around his elbow to steady him, then she puts one of his arms around her shoulder so that he can lean on her. Giles tries commit this picture to memory, it would make a fantastic painting, the way they’re standing there; with the height difference, it’s almost comical how he’s leaning on her. He can barely stand, and yet he looks at her with such love in his eyes that Giles has to smile.

 “He’s clearly never been exposed to this kind of alcohol before,” Giles remarks while adjusting his toupee back into place. “Not to mention that he did gulp down the whole thing in seconds. Shame, it was a nice wine.”

Elisa can only nod, she’s got one of her arms around his waist, while the other is holding his hand in place over her shoulder.

“We should get him back into the water, he’s been here for a while.” Giles says and moves to the creature’s other side to help her guide him back to the tub. They turn slowly towards the door and the creature follows their movements, although his head is spinning, and he feels lighter than a feather, as if he is he’s walking on a cloud instead of the dingy wooden floor. The otherwise short journey now takes long enough for him to start heaving and they all know that it’s not because of the wine. Giles lets him go when they reach the bathroom door, so that they can fit through. Elisa’s legs buckle from the weight and the creature falls down into the tub, splashing water all over the place. Her clothes are soaked; she no longer finds the situation amusing and her smile is replaced by a worried frown. She kneels beside the tub and Giles is standing next to her, looking equally concerned. Neither of them know what effects the alcohol has on his body, it might very well be different than a human’s reaction, more damaging. His gills are finally submerged in the water and his chest is rising and falling quietly with each breath he takes, although its faster than normal. He lifts one hand to find Elisa’s and tugs on it. She allows herself a small smile as she tightens her fingers around his, but he keeps on tugging.

“I think he’s going to be fine, dear… maybe a little hungover in the morning.” Giles says, and he realizes before Elisa that the creature wants her to join him in the tub. “I’ll leave you two alone, I’ll be right over if you need anything.” He exits and closes the door behind him.

Elisa hears the front door locking and she bites down on her lip when she turns her attention back to him. Stars are swirling in his half-closed eyes, but she can see the yearning and longing in them. She wants to make him feel better and hopefully, she knows just what he needs. She tells him to stay put and then quickly makes her way to the kitchen. She pushes the remnants of the half-finished cookie batter to the side, fills a pot with water and plops four eggs into it, then puts it on the stove. Maybe he just needs something to soak up all that wine. She checks on him while the eggs are boiling, and he seems to have dozed off. She peels the eggs for him before returning to the bathroom. She gently touches his face to wake him as she sits down beside the tub. He blinks to consciousness and for a moment he looks as if he doesn’t know where he is. She calms him with a reassuring squeeze on his arm and offers the plate of eggs. He ineptly sits up and she doesn’t have to tell him twice to eat –  the eggs are gone seconds. He burbs contently and sinks back into the water.

_Do you need anything?_

_E-L-I-S-A._

Her heart swells with love and when all her clothes are lying on the floor, she climbs into the tub. His arms immediately lock her in an embrace. As her skin makes contact with his scales, he lights up again, but in more gentle hues; a dusky pink mixed with translucent amber. He blinks, she can see that he’s trying to make sense of the things he’s experiencing. He runs a hand up her back and twirls her hair around his fingers, stroking dazedly. Then he brings his hand over to her face and traces a finger along her lips, as if he was touching her for the first time. His eyes are searching her face, and the only thing she can do is to look at him with a comforting smile, press a soft kiss to his mouth and caress him until his eyes feel heavy and he can no longer keep them open.  

* * *

She left him in the middle of the night, he was sleeping so deeply that she could slip out of his arms – not that she wanted to – but she wanted him to be comfortable, and that was barely manageable in her small tub even for one person, almost impossible when she was lying on him. Her blankets don’t provide the same warmth as him, she doesn’t know what to do with her hands now that she can’t put them around him; she tosses and turns for what feels like ages before she can finally fall asleep, listening to the sound of water dripping sporadically from the faucet.

* * *

She wakes with a start; a loud clang is heard from the bathroom and she’s instantly on her feet. He’s standing in the tub, or at least he’s trying to stand. He’s got one hand on the wall for support, the other one is shielding his eyes from the morning light filtering through the dusty window. His legs are shaky, and she hurries to him, jumps into the tub and touches him gently. His arms are now dangling by his sides, his shoulders are slouched, and she feels like her hands are the only things keeping him on his feet, so she helps him sit back down. The hem of the shirt she’s put on is drenched but she doesn’t even notice. His eyes are clearer than the night before, but he still looks dazed and adrift. He’s holding onto her hand as if her fingers were the only things anchoring him to this world. He lets go after a few minutes, looking like he wants to say something. He bends his fingers on one hand and touches his temple, then points his two index fingers together.

_Head. Hurts._

She tries her best to be sympathetic and conceals her smirk.

_Some things you must learn the hard way…_


	3. Dancing

> _Walk my way_   
>  _And a thousand violins begin to play_   
>  _Or it might be the sound of your hello_   
>  _That music I hear_   
>  _I get misty the moment you're near_

He’s crouching by her records when she enters the room, clawed fingers flicking through the worn LPs covers. Some of them he recognizes, some of them he doesn’t, which isn’t really surprising given the size of her collection. She’s amassed quite a lot of classics over the years from thrift stores and garage sales, ranging from soft blues to mellow jazz to smooth swing. He picks one out, turns it in his hand and sniffs it; a silent chuckle escapes her lips. She touches his back gently as she squats down next to him.

_Do you want some music?_

He repeats the sign for _music_ – one of the first ones he has learned – and hands her the record. Johnny Mathis’ _Misty_. Not a bad choice, she thinks. She stands and moves to the turntable, opens the lid and pinches the stylus with her fingers to clear off the dust. He follows her eagerly.

She closes her eyes when the first piano notes ring up and instinctively starts swaying to the gentle rhythm. She can feel his eyes on her; no one has ever looked at her the way he does, and she revels in the feeling. Shining blue eyes stare at her when she comes back to reality and it dawns on her with startling realization that they never danced, not really, not when there was either impenetrable glass or heavy chains separating them – but she dreamed about it countless of times.

He’s standing there in his usual graceful stance; with his muscles and build he’d make a great dancer. She bites her bottom lip as determination starts to take hold in her: she’s going to teach him. 

_Dance with me._

She doesn’t wait for his answer, she takes his left arm, tilts it upward and places it into position. He squawks dubiously, but keeps his hand in place as she slips her fingers into his palm. She steps closer to him, then guides his other hand to rest on her waist. Now she has to rely on her eyes and movements to convey what she wants to say, so she nudges him gently to step to the right, then to the left, and then to the right again. He hangs his head down and concentrates on the way their feet move, careful not step on her. She smiles at him as he’s starting to get the hang of it.

> _You can say that you're leading me on_  
>  _But it's just what I want you to do_  
>  _Don't you notice how hopelessly I'm lost?_  
>  _That's why I'm following you_

He’s no Bojangles and she’s far from Shirley Temple, but it’s them, and for her, that’s perfectly enough. She wonders if his kind had music, if they had songs, if they had a dance tradition… they must have, as he seems to understand the concept. But she’ll ask him, she’ll ask him to show her when the weather gets warmer and the river isn’t so chilly anymore.

But until then, for the length of the song she forgets about anything and everything; she forgets Strickland, forgets Occam altogether, with all of its white-coated scientist, forgets that she has no job to go back to and can barely afford even this run-down apartment and forgets that he probably has to return into the water before the record finishes. She would probably know all the words to the song if she put her mind to it, but she’s not really thinking about anything other than the way his arms feel around her. She brings his left hand down to her hips before hooking her arms around his neck and to do so, she has to stand on her tiptoes. They dance around the tiny apartment; the lights from the streets of Baltimore shine through the window, accompanying the dim glow of the living room lamp and the lights of the cinema seeping through the floorboards, filling the room with improbable wonder.

She tugs him closer, burying her face in his chest and nuzzling against him. She hugs him so close that she can feel the beat of his heart under her cheek, and for a while she’s not sure which’s louder, the music or his beating heart. Her eyes are slightly foggy when she tilts her head up, unshed tears glimmering on her lashes, but her mouth is curved in a wide smile. She didn’t know that her heart could feel so full of love without bursting out of her chest. The feeling is exhilarating, the world is speeding up and slowing down at the same time, the only constant being the connection between their eyes, a startling mix of hazel-y green and ethereal blue so intertwined it’s inconceivable to imagine them separated. The mixture of lights washes them in warm yellow as the rain gently taps on the walls of the building. They turn in slow circles, she’s smiling adoringly at him and in turn he irradiates with a soft golden gleam.   

> _On my own_  
>  _Would I wander through this wonderland alone_  
>  _Never knowing my right foot from my left_  
>  _My hat from my glove_  
>  _I'm too misty and too much in love_

She has to bite her tongue to keep the tears from falling. He rests their foreheads together and closes his eyes, just breathing in being close to her. She savors the closeness, both emotionally and physically, for the length of a few more notes before pulling back. She reaches to cup his face, gently brushing her thumb along the crest of his cheek, slowly yet firmly pulling his face closer to hers. The two of them slip into the kiss as easily as taking their next breath and the next step. It is deep and passionate, but slow. With their arms firmly around each other, they twist gently in place, pouring all of their love for and commitment toward each other into the kiss.

The song melts away after a while, the needle does a few empty revolutions and then stops moving altogether, but the absence of sound makes no difference to them, completely immersed in each other, they swayed gently to nothing more than the music of their matching heartbeats.


	4. Sick

It started with light coughing a couple of days ago. She didn’t think much of it then, nor did it come as a surprise. It was bound to happen sooner or later; she spends most nights with him in the tub, and even though his embrace keeps her somewhat warm, the water always gets chilly by the time the sun rises.

So, she quietly gets out of the tub; her throat is sore, she feels her stomach churning and there is a persistent ache in the sockets of her eyes. She can’t remember the last time she was sick, in the past decade, she couldn’t afford being sick. He’s still dozing peacefully; his arms slide off her body and submerge in the water like heavy rocks, without making a sound. She glances at herself in the mirror above the sink; she’s pale and her eyes have a tinge of red in them, the edges of her mouth are dry and cracked. She wraps a towel around her hair, throws on her robe and frowns when the door creaks as she exits, but he only grunts in his sleep and turns to his other side.

Elisa stumbles lazily into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and places a pot beside the kettle so that she can plop some eggs in it for him. While the water is boiling, she goes to get some painkillers, but sighs in disappointment when she can’t find any. Feeling the chilly morning her biting into her skin, she digs up her blow dryer that she hasn’t used in weeks and sets it on the lowest setting, not wanting the noise to wake him, then puts on an old, ratty shirt that covers her all the way to her mid-thighs and some underwear. She turns the stove off, grabs her tea and slumps down on the couch, crossing her legs. She gathers her blankets and disappears under them with a magazine that she has indefinitely borrowed from Occam’s locker room when Yolanda wasn’t looking. She tries to read but the letters are blurry, she blinks a few times and it feels like the words are floating above the page. She shakes her head but scowls when it only makes the throbbing worse.

She’s too preoccupied with the articles detailing the newest fashion trends, so she doesn’t hear him when he gets out of the tub, nor does she hear him when he walks up to her and squats down in front of her. She only notices him when he places one of his wet fingers on the magazine and pushes it out of the way. The grooves on his body immediately start to glow green at the sight of her, the color which she came to associate with worrying. He can certainly feel that something’s wrong with her.

 _It’s nothing, just need to get some medicine from Giles later._ She signs reassuringly, and he seems to understand, even though her movements are shaky. She’s shivering under the blankets. The old couch creaks when he jumps up next to her and wraps his arms around her, instinctively wanting to keep her warm. She sneezes abruptly, and he chirps in response, his eyes going wide with astonishment, his gills wiggling. That must’ve been the loudest sound he’s ever heard from her. Her heart flutters and she chuckles, but her amused expression fades and she winces because of the stinging pain in her throat. There is a frown on his mouth and concern in his eyes.

 _Medicine. Now._ He signs with a firmness that she’s never seen from him. He helps her up and holds her shoulders until she stops swaying on her feet. His eyes are attentive, following her every move as they make their way to Giles’ door.

“Oh God, you don’t look so well, my dear.” Giles says immediately after opening the door. There are beads of sweat on her upper lip and rolling down her temples. Her face is flushed, but the skin around her mouth is pale, almost stark white, with a bluish tinge around her lips.

* * *

_It’s just a cold. Do you have some Tylenol?_

 “Come on in, I’ll make you some soup.”

 _I—_ She looks up at the creature standing attentively behind her, _We don’t want to bother you._ She signs and points to his paint-covered sweater, he’s clearly in the middle of producing his next great masterpiece. Giles swiftly touches the back of his hand to her forehead. Her skin is positively fervid.

“You’re coming in, and that’s the end of it.”

She sighs in assent and shuffles inside. She sinks down on the couch beside the television while Giles gets to work in the kitchenette. The creature follows her and drops down next to her, he’s still not used to sitting in any kind of chair and she has to smile at the way he’s trying to get comfortable, he’s not sure how to place his legs and what to with his arms. There are some old reruns of _Gunsmoke_ on, but Elisa knows that it probably only acted as background noise if Giles was immersed in painting, and he indeed was, as she spots yet another half-finished portrait of the creature draped across the easel. She shakes her head and wonders when the old man will run out of angles to work with.

While the soup is sizzling on the stove, Giles brings out an excessive number of throw blankets from his bed and takes them to the couch along with a bottle of painkillers, then he proceeds to create a blanket nest around her after handing her a little white pill. She pops it into her mouth then crawls under the blankets, pulling a few over herself, before settling herself on the couch, half leaning against the worn backrest, half leaning against the creature. She can feel that he’s not looking at the TV. He’s regarding her. His hand slides up her shoulder towards her hair, petting her messy fringe and pushing it out of the way. She startles when his cool, scaled hand touches her forehead, he’s imitating what Giles did to check her fever, but it's so soft and calming that she relaxes immediately. He leans over her with a furrowed brow, and his hand dips down to cup her cheek. Her heart does a tiny little kick in her chest—he looks so anxious and worried. She tilts her head into his palm, seeking that cool touch.

Giles is babbling in the kitchen, but she can’t seem to concentrate on his words, and not only because of the creature’s distracting touch. The headache that has been building up was now throbbing behind her eyes and she’s unable to focus; the figures in the television seem to float across the screen.

Giles finds a carton of orange juice and pours some of it into a glass and then carries it into the living area along with the soup. He hands it to Elisa and it snaps her back to reality, so she takes it and tips the bowl up to her mouth, swallowing a little. It tastes pretty salty, but she won’t mention it to her friend, she knows it’s his grandmother’s recipe, but she can’t help coughing a little as it goes down. It's like daggers in her throat. Giles’ hand is against her back almost immediately, rubbing up and down. The creature scoots closer to her as well and places a hand on her back, just like Giles, but his hand lingers after her coughing subsides and he’s squawking worriedly. She drains the little bowl and hands it back to Giles. Her throat is still sore, but the warm liquid had soothed some of the ache, and her stomach feels less like a gnawing, twisting pit at the base of her gut.

She spends the rest of the day on Giles’ couch, keeping him company as he works on his painting. The creature reluctantly went back to the bathroom; he was heaving and wheezing relentlessly, desperate for water but unwilling to leave her side. Giles practically had to push him out the door, trying to make him understand that Elisa will be just fine under his care. After the struggle, Giles adjusts his sweater and sits back on his stool, grabs a paintbrush and picks up where he left off. Elisa watches as he carefully drags the brush along the canvas, finds it hypnotizing when he tries to mix the perfect color that matches the creature’s impossible pigments. Giles rambles on about how he can’t remember the last time he felt so inspired and she smiles to herself, her friend’s fondness of the creature warming her heart.

The painting is not finished by the time the mid-November sun sets on Baltimore, so Giles puts it aside and joins her to watch _I Love Lucy_ , although he can barely hear the dialogs because of her constant sniffling and nose blowing. His cats have come out of hiding and gathered around them after making sure that the creature was not around, but they quickly change their minds and whizz though the room when the front door screeches and his tall form appears. He gingerly approaches the couch, as if he was afraid of causing her more distress, but she smiles at him and holds a hand out for him, inviting him closer. He blooms with color to return her smile and takes her hand, then sits down with his eyes fixed on her. He cocks his head a little, examining her intently in a way that makes the hairs on her neck rise and she questions whether her cheeks feel warm because of the fever or his glance. She snuggles in closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her. She tries to stay awake, but the sickness and the blissful normalcy of the moment make it hard. Giles is already snoring softly beside her and her eyelids feel heavier with every second. He places his palm over his face, draws it down while pulling his fingers together and closes his eyes for a second. _Sleep._

She nods against his shoulder and nestles even closer to him. He stands and picks her up easily, as if she was an armload of feather ticking and the blankets slip off her. As her light, hot head bounces against his shoulder, she is filled with a sense of relief. She closes her eyes as she hooks her arms around his neck. She hears him kick the door shut behind them, but she doesn’t notice his hesitation when they enter her apartment, bathroom or bed, but he decides on the bed and places her gently on the heap of sheets. She grabs his wrist as he turns to leave for the bathroom.

_Just for a few minutes._

She tugs on his arm and scoots to the side of the bed, making room for him. He lays down beside her and she presses her body against his cooling scales. She feels that he’s trying to control his wheezing and to keep his gills from writhing too much. Suddenly it’s not only the fever that burns inside her but guilt as well, and yet she can do nothing but tighten her arm around his waist, digging further into his sides.

* * *

She shifts the blankets higher around her chin; her ear and nose are cold. She doesn’t even remember having four blankets, where in the world have they come from? She squints at the clock on her nightstand and frowns, silently questioning the many hours that had passed. It must be the earliest hours of morning, perhaps two or three o’clock. She makes a soft snuffling noise and tries to bury her head in her pillows, but then she can't breathe properly, so she has to tilt her head to the side. Her stomach is twisting in on itself, and she's pretty sure she's sweated through her shirt, even though she's still shivering. She lays like that for what feels like hours, drifting in and out of a hazy, heated semi-consciousness. She taps the bed beside her in the darkness, but her fingers only touch cold, slightly wet sheets. Her throat hurts, but not being with him hurts more, so she tries to sit up and it feels like a thousand years pass until she does. She winces as she turns, her feet now dangling from the edge of the bed. She stumbles and makes her way towards the bathroom, braving bare feet on the cold floor to move quickly around the apartment, always keeping one hand on the wall to keep herself somewhat steady. She hears Giles snoring on the other side of the wall, and she whispers a silent thank you to her friend, feeling ever so grateful that he is ready to help with whatever she needs, but Giles can’t do anything about what she needs now. Beside the cold, she has a certain sickness that no medicine can tame. 

The bathroom door creaks, and she steps inside, the creature raises his head out of the water at the sound and when he sees her, he’s instantly out of the tub, a thousand waterfalls cascading down his scaled body. The tiny, dark room is suddenly painted in a soft green light.

He curls his index finger and taps the air, then gingerly crosses his hands before his chest, signing _Need rest_.

Her knees are trembling, but she manages to give him a weak smile. _Need you_.

His gills wiggle and he looks at her questioningly, but then moves closer in case he needs to catch her, and because he wants to be close to her. She tries to lift her arms to get rid of the shirt, but her strength fails her, and she only manages to raise them halfway up. She only thinks for a second before reaching for one of his large hands. She pulls it closer to herself and takes one of his clawed fingers between her own. He stares down at her as she guides his hand down the length of her body, his claw gliding effortlessly through the fabric until it splits completely in half. She lets go of his hand and shakes off the remains of the shirt.

Now naked, she puts her hands on his hips and gently pushes him back towards the tub. He steps over the edge, then lifts her so easily that for a second she thinks she’s flying but then winces at the pain that stings into her head and his green grows brighter. She reassures him by squeezing his shoulder. He steps back and carefully pulls her with him as they curl down into the water. She turns the faucet on so that hot water is spilling over them. Losing herself in the calmness of the moment, her fingers gently massage his side while her other hand draws signs onto his scales that he can’t yet understand. She feels herself smiling despite the aches and the heat and her scattered thoughts, drifting on the edges of sleep, dreams tugging her away.

 


	5. Hanging out with Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light spoilers ahead!

Giles had generously offered to drive her to the supermarket, but she kindly refused, longing for some time alone. Even though she loves him, loves him with all her heart; she still needs a break sometimes. She senses the first pang of regret when she turns around the corner and feels cold little raindrops landing on her hair, some of the bigger ones make their way down her neck, into her coat; the tickling sensation sends a shiver down her spine. Her red coat and red shoes are in stark contrast with the grey tones that bathe the mid-November Baltimore cityscape in a quaint melancholy. The streets are empty, everyone’s either at home preparing for their Thanksgiving dinner or doing last-minute shopping—like her. She pulls her coat tighter around herself and shivers as a gust of wind engulfs her in the Patapsco’s salty smell. But she breathes it in, thinks of _him_. Thinks of how this is going to be his first Thanksgiving, and how she wants it to be perfect.

The holidays were never fun when she was kid. The matrons at the orphanage were grumpier than usual, the food was only slightly better than usual, and the other children were only slightly less mean to her than usual. She was seldom thankful for things. From the day she was born, life hadn’t exactly dealt her the best cards. She figured it wasn’t a bad thing that the no one ever waited for her to sign what she was thankful for, that no one ever bothered to try and understand; she either had nothing to say, or it was better if the matrons couldn’t decipher the movements of her fingers.

She remembers her first Thanksgiving with Giles, how she tried to fight back her tears while they were having dinner, how swiftly she signed that she was thankful for his friendship and everything he did for her, how he didn’t understand her at first. But he _wanted to_. Ever since then, they’ve always spent Thanksgiving together. This will be the first in more than a decade that it won’t be just the two of them.

She hits the supermarket with two shopping lists. The store is packed, so she navigates the aisles with careful calculations. She picks up the sweet potatoes, several cartons of eggs, boxes of milk and packets of flour for the cornbread and some marshmallows. Her cart is almost full when she makes a last round to pick up some chocolate for Giles. He originally wanted to make some pie, but he thought better of it. He never wants to see pie in his life ever again or any bright colored gelatin desserts—especially not green ones. No, he’ll make a fudge tunnel cake that will be unspeakably better than anything Dixie Doug’s pie place has to offer.

She wasn't prepared for how domestic it would feel, walking down supermarket aisles with shopping lists in her hand; getting groceries for the man who is waiting for her at home, looking at discounts and contemplating whether he would like smallmouth bass or river herring more. Or how comfortable that domesticity would feel. The two fully packed brown paper bags feel heavy in her hands, and she chides herself once again for not taking Giles’ offer. She’s mildly annoyed at the weather and at the bus for running about fifteen minutes late. She can’t be grateful enough to Zelda, who promised to bring the best damn turkey in all of Baltimore, because she doesn’t know how she would’ve hauled the bird home.

Her arms feel sore by the time she reaches the theatre building; she lets out a sigh as she looks up the fire escape that she still has to climb. She hears fidgeting and movements on the other side of the door when she inserts her keys into the lock; opens it slowly and he’s standing there, dripping wet and blinking at her, chirping happily. He was waiting for her. As he always does. She drops her bags and lifts a hand to caress his cheek. He leans down and touches his forehead to hers.

 _Help me with this?_ She signs as she hands him one of the bags. Her shoulder slouches under the weight of the groceries. He doesn’t even budge when he takes it from her. She shrugs out of her drenched coat and then picks up the other bag, indicating for him to follow her to the kitchenette where Giles had already busied himself with his cake. The countertop is covered in sugar and flour; the old man doesn’t notice them at first; he’s gently dancing around to one of her jazz records with a bowl in one hand, and a wooden spoon in the another. He jumps slightly when Elisa drops the bag on the dining table and it lands with a resounding thud.  

“I swear one of you will give me a heart attack one of these days…” Giles says with a heavy sigh. Elisa only raises one eyebrow and shakes her head. “Don’t worry my dear; I have everything under control here.” He adds upon seeing her questioning expression, then he drops the chocolate covered spoon into the sink.

He’s rambles on, talking to himself and the creature, who seems to be more concerned with the sweet smell of cocoa, but that doesn’t stop Giles from passionately sharing the mysteries of baking with him.

“You see, my boy, it’s another form of art. You can’t rush it; you can’t force it, you have to feel it.” But to be sure, he measures the spoonful of flour before emptying it into the bowl. He sticks his tongue out in concentration as he adds cocoa powder, then a bit of chocolate into the mix. “It has to be just the perfect texture, not too dense, not too washy.”

Meanwhile, she’s setting out the groceries on the counter and she finds herself nodding along to the beat, letting her inhibitions loosen up a little to the music; head bobbing to the rhythm, hair bouncing and feet quick as she stirs the saucepan that Giles had filled with broth for the gravy. The notes echo pleasantly in her ears, and she finds herself silently humming and swaying along to the song. The two of them are a pretty good team, and it's nice being in the kitchen with her friend, dancing around each other as he makes the cake and she prepares sweet potato casserole, while the creature watches them with eager interest, perched on a chair by the dining table.

The bantering takes them all the way through dinner preparation. If Giles’ babbling, the creature’s squawking and Elisa’s infrequent responses count as bantering. She only loses the flow of conversation a few times, despite her hands being occupied with various kitchen utensils; mostly when the creature bends over to look into the oven once the cake is inside, and once when there’s an incident with the gravy.

She’s never cooked anything other than eggs for the creature, though; he was content with eggs and raw fish, as Dr. Hoffstetler said he would be, so she’s a little alarmed when Giles leaves her alone to go and change into something nicer. The old man always followed recipes step by step, but he also had a natural aptness to cooking, he just never really utilized it, sometimes forgetting to eat altogether until she reminded him.

She stands a few feet from the creature, busy with layering a pan with the vegetables, but still can’t manage to take her eyes off of him, her chest aching with affection. She wishes he could help in here; putter around and chop what she tells him to chop and arrange things on baking sheets and measure out herbs and spices, but she knows that his hands are not meant for that. The corners of his mouth twitch as he holds her gaze. She puts a pan on the stove for his eggs, accidentally breaking one in the process. Her hands are now wet with raw egg, and she can almost see his mouth watering involuntarily. He stands up, casually walks to the kitchenette, and pops one egg into his mouth before she can drop it into the water. He stands behind her, watching over her shoulder as she ladles a bit of heavy cream into the other pan. Stirring, always stirring. The boiling water is heating the room, making her warm.

Her grin is immediate and undeniably adoring before she feigns exasperation, letting out a sigh before she turns back to her work, using the knife to gather all of the remaining chopped sweet potatoes into a pile. He keeps on moving closer until he’s up against her back, snugged right up, the perfect height to wrap his arms around her and hook his chin over her shoulder to look down at her steady hands carefully and confidently cutting the vegetables. She sets down the knife she's holding, worried that she'll involuntarily drop it. His presence makes the ordinary act of cooking intricate. Sensual. She feels a hot flush creep pricklingly over her skin, but one of the timers goes off before she can try to do something about it, though, and she sighs and steps away from him as the steam clouds around them.

“That's my cake,” Giles chides from the other side, overly cheerful and comes back rushing.

After he pulls it out from the oven, they watch with bated breath as he tries to extract it from the baking tin. Giles sighs with relief and lets it cool down before he starts decorating it with artistic precision, as if it was one of his more detailed portraits, carefully spreading a layer of steaming, melted chocolate over the cake. When he finishes, he steps back and looks at the final product with such pride in his eyes that Elisa is unable to hold back the grin spreading across her face.

“Some of my best work, don’t you think?” He asks and she nods, even though she knows he doesn’t really need an answer. She slumps against the creature’s side. The casserole is in the oven; the fudge cake is baked, and the apartment smells delicious. Everything isn't finished, but they're in a lull, and nothing needs to be done right this minute. Plus, they're on track for Zelda showing up at five and eating at five-thirty. And she's leaning on him. It's been a very successful day so far.

* * *

A few hours and a bath later she stands in front of the old, dusty mirror in her bedroom, holding a simple black shirtdress against her body; turning slowly from one side to the other. _It’ll do_ , she thinks to herself as she lays it down on the bed, so that she can peel off her worn blouse. While she’s buttoning the front of the dress, she hears him entering the room with wet footsteps, leaving behind a trail of puddles as he walks up to her. She smiles at him and twirls around, he chirps approvingly as she grabs his hand and tugs him closer. They’re standing side by side before the mirror; she hasn’t put her newest silver shoes on yet, so she barely comes up to his shoulders. He seems to be contemplating their reflection, cocking his head to the side. She steps in front of him and pulls on his hands so that they rest on her belly, not worrying about the two large, wet handprints that are immediately starting to form on her dress as water seeps through the fabric. _They’re not that visible on black anyway_. She leans back against him and glances at her own beaming smile in the mirror. His salty scent mingles with smell of chocolate, marshmallows and spices. It smells like home and she takes it in.  

There’s a twinkle in her eyes as she gets a sudden idea. She signs for him to wait there and rushes out of the room. A minute later she returns with a black bow tie in her hand. It matches her dress perfectly. He blinks at her questioningly as she stands on her tiptoes and hooks it around his neck. She adjusts it, keeps it very loose so that it won’t restrict his gills. But he still tenses when she tries to tie it, his breathing quickens and the fins on his back fluff up, drops of water covering the mirror as a result. She stops, puts a hand on his cheek and the other on his chest, where she can feel the thumping of his flustered heart.

 _Bad man._ He signs bunglingly. Strickland. He lifts his hand to his neck where the bowtie is now hanging loose and tightens his fingers. The chains. The iron collar. Their eyes meet, and she can see the confusion in them. Instantly, she wants to comfort him, to tell him that it’s alright. She didn't want to upset him and she certainly hadn't intended to remind him of the torture he went through. He was safe, it was all over now. Her arms take the place of the tie around his neck, and she pulls him as close as she can. She hopes that way her soft skin feels on his scales will replace the images of the lab and its torture devices with more pleasant thoughts.

* * *

Giles checks his toupée for the fifth time in ten minutes and is smoothing out the wrinkles in his olive-green dress shirt when there’s a knock at the door. He opens it and greets Zelda with a welcoming hug. He considers her a close friend now, given their shared experiences in the past month.

After shrugging off her coat and handing the turkey over to Giles, Zelda walks toward the direction of the appetizing smell – the dining area – breathing in deep when the smell of food wafts her way. She steps around the corner and stops at the sight of the creature. She is still taken aback by him sometimes, even though Elisa had ‘formally’ introduced them and she knows that he’s come to trust her over her visits, maybe not as much as he trusts Giles, but she knows he would never hurt her.

“This looks fabulous,” she says after hugging Elisa and patting the creature’s shoulder, because it does, and the smell is driving her to distraction. When Elisa’s face lights up at the praise, the creature starts to radiate in his own way, and clothes the room in a golden light. Once everyone has their food and drink, they settle down around the table. Elisa fetches her egg timer and sets it for 20 minutes and places it next to the turkey. The creature chews with relish, his eyes lazing happily as he swallows. He tries to use the fork and the knife, as Elisa had showed him, but his webbed fingers won’t cooperate.

“Lord knows my Brewster likes to eat, but your man here, honey… are you starving him?” the older woman remarks jokingly, and Elisa’s stomach does a flip when she hears her friend referring to him as _her man_. She starts to rapidly sign excuses, even though she knows Zelda was only teasing. “No, no.. sweetheart, it’s fine, it’s a good thing that he likes your cooking, shows that he’s a keeper.” She says with a wink.

Zelda continues to fill the table with talk on how the past few days had went at Occam, then Giles mused about the newly opened art supply store that he discovered on one of his strolls. Every now and again, the creature chirps, but then he stops and goes back to eating.

“There is something on your—” Giles mutters to Elisa and points to the corner of his own mouth. Before she can swipe off the crumbs, the creature lifts up out of his seat just enough to lean across the inches separating them and simply licks it off. Giles almost spits his drink out, and Zelda is cracking up beside him. Elisa stares at him, her eyes wide, but laughter is bubbling in her and she can’t contain it.

“I would say it’s not only your _cooking_ that he likes,” Giles comments and clears his throat.

Her cheeks turn red, but her eyes are almost sparkling while he returns to his seat. Then she places a napkin back across his lap and he lets out a dreamy groan as he slumps back against the chair. He tries to pick up his fork once again. She knows he’s doing to impress her, to make her smile, but gives up after a few unsuccessful tries. She can feel his eyes on her when she gathers a bit of potatoes and stuffing and a carrot on her fork, blowing it off a little before she pushes it past her lips, her face bright crimson.

Zelda clinks her fork against her glass; Elisa rolls her eyes. “This is important, hon! It's Thanksgiving; we have to go around and say what we're thankful for.”

Right now, Elisa is thankful that she is part of this dinner. She lets out a breath and looks down at the food, at the sweet potatoes, the cornbread, the gravy the mountain high pile of stuffing. She did this, made all of this. Stood in their kitchen in their home and made this meal for them; and it ended up being quite a meal, if she does say so herself. Giles does better desserts than she does, and Zelda’s turkey is as flawless as ever. Elisa has no idea what spices she used, but it's the best she's ever had, and the older woman also has a knack for pie. Even Giles can’t refuse that appetizing apple pie that she brought as a surprise.

Zelda takes a deep breath, prepares to start the round. She thinks she has it all figured out, she never had a problem with talking, but for once in her life she finds herself at a loss for words. She always used to say she was thankful for her Brewster (although he never really earned that). She is not sure anymore. She was thankful for the comfort of her home, but when she thinks about it now, the first thing that pops into her mind is Strickland barging through the door. She was thankful that she had a paying job and her best friend as her colleague. Now she only has a paying job.

“I gotta admit… I had my doubts,” she manages to say while shaking her head ever so slightly. “But I’m just thankful to be here. With all of you.” She pats Elisa’s hand, and Elisa swears that she sees tears welling up in the other woman’s eyes. She hadn’t asked why Zelda was not going with Brewster to his family, she hadn’t asked why she didn’t want to bring him here either, although Zelda’s profound opposition to that idea still baffles her, but she doesn’t want to be prying.

Giles dramatically clears his throat before he begins. “As Emerson said, _cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude_ … But mostly, I’m thankful for old friends,” he says, turning to Elisa, “and for new friends,” he continues, looking at Zelda and the creature. “I’m thankful for this meal that I get to share with those friends. I’m thankful that I’m more or less healthy… and for the renaissance of my art.” He finishes with a smile.

Elisa can hear things she wants to say in her head, a hundred thoughts swirling around at once, but she can’t find the words nor the signs to say them. _This. All of this._ Her lip trembles as her fingers formed the signs; she tried to stop it but it was like a dam that wanted to burst free. She sets her hand back to the table and feels Zelda squeezing it gently, accompanied by a tight-lipped smile, her own hand shaking slightly.

The creature blinks when Zelda and Giles turn to him with expectant looks on their faces. Elisa explained the vague concept of Thanksgiving to him days before, leaving out historic details that he has neither need nor use of.

 _What are you thankful for?_ She signs to encourage him. She sees that he understands; she sees that he’s thinking, but only for a second.

_E-L-I-S-A._

This time she can't stop a tear from finding its way down her cheek. She feels her heart melting, warmth flooding her from head to toe as she reaches out to cover his webbed fingers with hers, but his hands move to sign again.

_And eggs._

* * *

Silence fell between them after a while, the only sound being the soft jazz music coming from the record player, and it was a comfortable weight, kind of like a blanket. Elisa’s just happy – content with everything and everyone; she even volunteers to clear the table after they had finished, but Giles shoos her off. The old man even sings off-key to the song as he scrubs at the baking dish they've efficiently emptied of food.

Zelda leaves after a few hours, Giles retires back to his apartment as well, all the food had made him sleepy, just like it did the creature, who retreated into the tub after the meal and was dozing when she last checked on him. Elisa putters in the kitchenette, cleaning a few more dishes, wiping them dry, putting them back in their proper places before joining him in the bathroom. She drops down beside the tub, rests her elbows on the edge and searches the water for his hand. He stirs at the contact, peeking an eye open. She smiles at his drowsy expression, flattens her palm and signs.

_Happy Thanksgiving._


	6. Morning Routine

Orange and yellow rays leak through the dusty window, shedding stripes of color through the tiny bathroom. Her waking up used to be ruled by routine, stringent egg boiling and shoe cleaning were the guidelines by which she rose in the evening, getting ready for the graveyard shift. Now there is _breakfast_ to make instead of dinner and eggs to boil for two, not just for herself (and sometimes for Giles), but she makes no effort to remove herself from the safety of his arms. She had searched her whole life for the comfort she found wrapped in that embrace, and she decides this morning, that routine simply isn’t important, nor will it be ever again. Not with him in her life. The cold winter sunlight seeps through the glass, hitting her eyelids with a light glow. A soft groan escapes from the body next to her. She’s already used to feeling his breath on the back of her neck, in her hair, or against her chest, depending on how they fell asleep. His lips ghost against her skin, causing her to break out in goosebumps, despite the warmth from his breath. She smirks and tries not to giggle, but his lips against her neck make it tough. She loves feeling his lips against her skin, especially when it alternates between the feeling of his lips and the scaly, tickling feeling of his hands.

She runs a hand over her face, willing her eyes open while carefully extracting herself from the body wrapped around her; she reluctantly sits up, making the water around them swirl lightly, and briefly stretches her arms above her head. His features are relaxed as she looks down at him. She often wonders what he dreams about; the things he’d seen and experienced, or the home he was taken from—she hopes he dreams of her. She traces his face with her fingers, sliding them off target to brush over his jawline, letting them linger for a moment. She then moves her finger to thumb over his lips. The only response she receives is a grunt. At first, she assumed he’d always wake up unnaturally—or rather—naturally early, as life in the Amazon must have meant that he rose with the sun, but most days she wakes before him.

She turns, slouches against the other side of the tub. A shudder runs along her body as she looks down at his dozing form, a scintillating idea forming in her head. There are some parts of her routine that she does _not_ want to change. He stirs and slowly opens his eyes, the golden parts of them catching the sunlight when he turns his head to see her. She acts quickly and places one leg on each side of him, exposing herself to his gaze that instantly becomes wakeful. She lets out a soft sigh into the humid air as she starts to slide her right hand along her body, moving down her front, slipping over her stomach, feeling up the inside of her thighs. She takes her time in savoring the feeling of her body coming to life after a good night's sleep.

She raises her other hand and ghosts it over her chest, over her already hard nipples, receptive to any touch given. They tingle when she touches them and she closes her eyes. She barely brushes the area between her legs—barely touches it—but she feels every single bit, as if she was so overly sensitive someone could breathe on her and it would be over and done with. She bites her bottom lip as her body reacts to the noises he is making. A groan echoes out of his mouth, a natural reaction to the sight of her, the sound of her. Leaning back in the tub, she can’t help but squirm, the wetness that had started to pool between her legs suddenly increasing tenfold. She dares to press more firmly with her motions, becoming too far gone to care. Back arching, she gasps, unable to take her eyes off him as he takes in the sight. His luminescence paints the water in a pinkish shade that matches the blush on her face. Her hips buck as her fingers move quicker. Close now. Her movements grow faster, and she squeezes her thighs together, but he reaches out to stroke her soft flesh, encouraging her legs to lie a little bit farther apart. Holding her breath, her hips undulate against her hand before coming to a stop.  

Carefully, she slips her hand over his, their fingers intertwining gently, as far as the webs between his allow. Licking her lips, she takes his hand and lays it on her breast, pushing it down to graze her nipples and create a satisfying friction, the pleasure building quicker and quicker... Her other hand ends up gripping the edge of the tub from the sheer elation her body feels at finally, finally, having some contact, feeling his clawed fingers against her bare skin at last. She quivers and squirms under his touch, swallowing as pleasure rises intensely in her. He pulls back but keeps his palm on her breast, his other hand moves to possessively press into the creamy skin of her thighs. She sees that he can't help but watch her reactions, paying close attention to the way she likes to be touched and she quickly signs a quiet gesture of contentment to encourage him. She pauses for a moment, then gently and slowly moves his hand so that it rest over her soft mound. She closes her eyes as she moves his hand till it’s cupping her sex. She pushes and pulls at the creature’s longest finger, and he lets her, producing short, sensual strokes. Soon wanting more, she lifts his hand slightly and slides it back and forth with her own, enjoying the longer strokes through her flesh. He groans again. She forces herself to inhale slowly. She bites her lip, eyes flitting around in excitement. His fingers slip for a second under the water before he puts a little more pressure behind them, making tight circles against the engorged bundle between her legs. She grabs his wrist to indicate she wants him to slow down. It’s the sensation of them breaching the beginning of her wet passage that’s sending repeated tingles throughout her as she throws her head back in abandon. Smiling, she pushes into his touch, hips bucking again. She moves his fingers back up to her sensitive bud and begins rubbing it in small circles, the way she likes.

Her breaths are shorter and harder to maintain in a pattern, her panting is coming more quickly and feels more strangled as she reaches for the pleasure she knows is so near. Her toes curl and flex and her thigh, calf, buttock and abdominal muscles contract as she nears her climax. Her bliss is a tight whip that snaps out from her center, cascading through her body before rapidly swinging back, tightening in the pit of her stomach, growing hotter and hotter, almost burning as she chases her release. Then she lets her head fall back against the tub with a loud thud. The aftershocks ebb from her body while her breathing slowly returns to normal; her hand finds his cheek before she pulls him down into a languid kiss, hooking a leg over his hip.

He pulls away and sits back, tilting his head to the side and staring at the her with his curious golden eyes. One foot, with small toes, comes up out of the water to poke him in his sides. He grabs her toes, inspects them playfully—so different, so much softer than his own—earning a chuckle from her.

Pushing herself up on her hands, slowly, she glides through the water and crawls the small distance until her knees are pressed against the outsides of his thighs. There is a fair bit of sloshing about as she repositions herself, straddling him under the water. She doesn’t care. At all. Not when he is looking at her like that. Not when her wet, slick body is pressed against him.

The waterline barely reaches her bellybutton as she supports herself on her knees, and his own hands come out from the water to grip her indented waistline. She stretches and makes low, lazy noises of pleasure, barely audible pants. There is a gentle but insistent pressure against the inside of her thigh. Her eyes close with a faint smile gracing her mouth. Her skin slides effortlessly under both of his palms as he reaches lower to hold her hips. His hands, large and scaled, feel like they belong there, and his fingers are so long that he’s nearly able to intertwine them against the small of her back.

He buries his face in her neck and his left arm circles around her back again to hold her tight to him. Her pale skin mottles red with heat and arousal. Placing herself in position, she lowers her body slowly, achingly, down onto him until he is buried deep inside. The water comes up to her nipples as she sinks onto his lap. They both groan in satisfaction as they are finally joined. She rakes her fingernails over the length of his back, caressing along the ridge of fins. He growls through clenched teeth, his voice husky, primal and filled with need. He nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. Then she moves and he moves; she sets the rhythm and he matches it. Reaching down with one hand to feel the place where they are joined, she begins working her fingers against herself, hand slipping easily under the water. A thin layer of sweat coats her, but it washes away with the rocking waves they create with each shuddering thrust. He grunts as she arches her back to grant him even greater access. Claiming, and being claimed in return.

She presses her mouth to his when she comes so he can taste her moan. His body tenses as well, his release seeping quickly from him; one thrust, two, and he is shuddering beneath her, coming with a muffled whine. Breathless. She collapses on his chest, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, as if being afraid that she’d drift away.

She pulls back a bit, just enough so that he can see her hands. She presses her palms together, facing up, then crosses her left hand while moving the right one in an upward stroke.

_Good morning._


	7. Snow

The alarm clock—that sits relocated on the edge of the sink instead of her nightstand—reads 5:07AM. It is then that she notices the snow, falling outside the window, casting little dots of shadow all over the bathroom walls. She smiles as the snowflakes drift past and down to the ground, some settling on the window. It's just a few minutes later when he stirs, sensing her slight movements, but she stumbles out of the tub and gets dressed, pulling on layers of clothes to keep warm before he can fully come to his senses and protest.

When she returns with a heavy coat and a scarf in her hands, she spots him standing by the larges windows, still dripping wet. The hardwood is cold under her feet as she makes her way to him. She wants to take him outside, show him, so that he can feel the softness of the snow on his body. She wonders if she should put a blanket around him, unsure of how his body would react to the freezing weather, how quickly his temperature would drop to match the chilliness of the air.

She puts both her hands up and signs, _snow_. The awe that glimmers in his eyes tells her assumptions was right; in the countless years he has spent on this Earth, he’s never seen snow before. He had never seen snowflakes fall from the sky or caress his scales. She signs again and this time he repeats it, then looks back out to the alley with an enthusiastic trill. Everything is draped in glittering white, still blue before the sunrise. She practically has to peel his face from the window; he has his nose and forehead pressed up against the glass, staring at the blinding whiteness right before his eyes. She bundles up, hands fumbling with her own excitement before she takes him by the hand and he finally lets her pull him along. She slips on her shoes, then tip toes out of the apartment, signing for him to stay quiet so they won’t disturb Giles—and so they go down the hall, hand in hand.

When they reach the end of the hallway, she lets go of him as he goes through the door. It’s freezing outside. But it’s the sort of cold that is fresh and beautiful. It wakes you up and makes you feel alive. She looks up at the sky, almost as white as the ground, and smiles. A few snowflakes land on her face. As far as she can see from the top of the fire escape, everything is covered in a thin layer of white, powdery dust, it looks heavenly, welcoming even. The railings are covered in a generous heap of snow, as is the rest of the alley and the whole of Baltimore. The streets are still empty, the city has yet to wake on this Sunday morning. It’s unusually, eerily quiet, no cars whirring in the background or people clunking about on their way to work, giving the dawn an almost ethereally peaceful touch.

It’s a miracle that they can even climb down considering how much had fallen during the night. He almost slips on the icy railing a few times, uncertain of how he should balance himself on the unfamiliar substance, but thanks to his enhanced reflexes, he manages to avoid any actual spills. She pulls her scarf over her chin and sets off after him. She slowly walks him to the back of the alley, until they’re both standing ankle deep in the fresh snow, her teeth clattering already. Snow is everywhere, falling fast, wrapping itself around her limbs and face and slipping down the back of her collar and up her cuffs, almost numbingly cold.

His steps gradually slow until he comes to a stop and gazes at the sky. Big snowflakes falling onto his face, melting at the touch of his skin that’s still warm from the bathwater. He gingerly holds his hands out to feel them. When he opens his mouth to catch the snowflakes on his tongue, she suddenly feels warm despite the chill and the snow specking her dark hair with white.

A huge grin spreads on her face and she giggles quietly. He falls completely silent from how beautiful he thinks the snow is, not even a faint chirp escapes his lips. He kneels and touches the ground tentatively, picking up a handful of it to feel the texture. He plays with it in his hands, rolling it back and forth and memorizing the foreign patterns and sensations. It slowly melts in his grasp, and he immediately replaces it with more. Snowflakes land softly upon the fins on his back and they tremble at the contact while he continues to examine the different crystals that trickle down onto his palms.

There’s a calming silence in her mind now. Empty. Peaceful. She gazes at him and she can feel herself falling more and more in love with him, goosebumps forming on her arms under the layers. She can’t help but smile at the sight and the shiver that runs up her back has nothing to do with the snow. She will never tire of seeing him mystified at something so simple, even though he himself might be the biggest mystery to ever exist. She feels warm, truly happy, deep in her heart.

The air is sharp and crisp as it begins to fall a little heavier, the curling cloud of condensation escaping her lips considerable against the breeze. While he is looking away, she grabs a handful of snow and tries to mold it into a ball. This snow isn’t even that great of quality – it’s terrible for packing a snowball, way too light and fluffy. She lets the snowball fly, it's a little off-target but still manages to catch the side of his face. He turns abruptly, and she’s rewarded by his grunt of surprise. He jumps back at the hit of coldness, spitting some of the snow out of his mouth. She grins triumphantly until she notices that there is something almost like hurt and fear in his eyes. She approaches him, puts a hand on his cheek, moving her thumb slowly over his already frosty skin.

_It’s just a game._

He blinks at her, confused. She squats down, begins packing another snowball, then places the finished product in his palm. His fingers instinctively curl around it; he turns it around, head bobbing from one side to another as he takes a hard look at it.

_Throw it._ She signs, and the ball of snow hits her shoulder before her fingers even finish the movements; the wetness drenching her coat instantly. A big grin sets on her face and it doesn’t want to fade. Her smile widens as she watches him get down and trying to form a snowball. She doesn’t know how long they do it, snowballs flying back and forth between them as he starts to get the hang of it. It’s freeing and silly and so, so fun. His aim is far more accurate than hers, and she’s soon soaked through her layers. It doesn’t help her that he is utterly distracting in his happiness. His eyes are bright and merry in the quick moments they find hers.

They revel in the beauty for a little more, and stand in it as the snow falls onto the streets and hangs off her hair and lashes and the spikey ends of his dorsal fins. Rubbing her red nose with her gloved hands, she smiles at him, her bottom lip quivering. She can’t really tell if he’s shivering or heaving, but the sound of cars in the distance and the brightening daylight signal that it’s time to return to the tub and turn on the hot water.


	8. Christmas

Christmas is in the air and, the holiday spirit had already filled all of Baltimore. The streets and storefronts are covered with lights, wreaths hung from every door and every retailer in the city is trying to out-do all the others with their promotions. It’s lightly snowing outside, people’s houses are starting to get decorated, and everything just feels joyful.

For Elisa and Giles, Christmas starts with the tree. They decided to get a real tree this time around, a tall one, not just a sorry excuse for a tree that they usually had. Hauling it up the theater’s fire escape was always a real challenge, so mostly they opted for the smallest one they could find. But she promised to do Christmas right this year, for _him_. That promise brought her and Giles here, through snow and ice, to a Christmas tree farm in the middle of nowhere. Apparently, the proprietor grows the best trees in the state, and so they came all the way out to the edges of the city.

It’s Monday morning and it’s snowing again and quite a few inches had already fallen overnight, enough to make everyone go crazy. The tree farm they land at is busy with last-minute shoppers; kids running about, adults laughing, complimentary hot chocolate and apple cider being doled out. Giles lectures her about the different kind of firs as they step outside into the cold. Once out in the brisk air, a frosty breeze blows hair across her face, and she palms it back with her mitten, smiling as she follows along behind him, basking in his informational mode. She sludges through the gray slush, shoes sinking in with each movement. She can feel her heart shrinking two sizes smaller from the cold with every step. Before diving into the endless rows of trees, Giles orders them both hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkled on top, his treat, and she laughs when he gets the whipped cream on his nose.

Then, Elisa scans the trees as she saunters her way between them, evaluating—the sky is the color of ashes, and it leaks into the trees, making everything the same shade of muted grey. She drags Giles to the first promising looking one, a spruce. It’s rather tall but also very fat, he isn’t really sure how it would fit into the old van. Giles finds another one after that, a Noble Fir. Twenty minutes of examination pass before she finds the tree she wants, a specimen with glossy needles, a straight trunk, and even, sprawling branches. Perfect.

Finding was the tree relatively easy. The hard part is actually taking it down and bringing it home—they have to find an employee to help them hack it down. Giles spots a tall, muscular man talking to a family a few trees over. He examines him carefully, strong build, prominent muscles that can be seen even through his puffy jacket—has to be the product of all the years he’s spent chopping down firs and pines. The tall man must feel his gaze on him, as he looks back at him with an easy smile. It’s the kind of smile Giles knows to be a warning sign. He should avoid falling in love at first sight. Elisa chuckles and rolls her eyes when she notices that her friend’s attention has shifted from the tree to something equally tall and lean. Giles waits until the man finishes talking with the customers, then makes his approach.

“Can I help you, sir?” He asks with a tone that’s too warm for this weather.

“We’re just looking for a tree,” Giles says abruptly, trying to keep his calm exterior and failing miserably. Then mentally scolds himself. What else would they do on a tree farm.

“Glad to hear it, uh…” The guy’s hands awkwardly clap together. “Brilliant. Now, are you looking for any particular type? We cultivate them all here; Norway Spruces, Nordmann Firs, Fraser Firs…”

“Actually, we’ve already found the one we want to take home.”

“Wonderful, show me,” and so they bring the man to their chosen tree. “Oh yes…” he says approvingly. “That one’s a beauty,” he walks up to the pine, running his fingers through its powdery branches with the solemnity of a handshake. “This tree has the perfect bearing for a centerpiece. Judging by the size, I’d say it’s, five, maybe six years old. Just imagine how many creatures have scurried up that trunk and perched on those handsome branches!”

Elisa furrows her brows, Giles is gazing at the man as if he was in the middle of sharing all the secrets of the world with him instead of trying to sell them a fairly good-looking tree.

“Excellent, we’ll take it.”

The man kneels on the snow-covered ground and gets to work. When he’s finished, Giles is looking at him like he’s waiting for something. There’s this moment, where they’re staring at each other and Giles is pretty sure his heart gives out. Elisa shifts, tapping with her feet. She feels her shoes sink even further into the snow. She can see that man is only waiting for his payment.

* * *

Telling the guy that they’d be fine on their own and stubbornly dragging an almost seven-foot tall pine tree to the car park had been Giles’ first mistake. The second one was thinking that he could navigate the busy Baltimore streets while the tree was blocking his rear view. He almost lost his new bumper to an equally frustrated driver in a Chevy Corvair.

When he finally parks in the narrow alley, Mr. Arzounian notices their struggling and leaves his usual place in the box office to offer his help, but both of them decline vehemently; Elisa shakes her head firmly while Giles tries to convince both Mr. Arzounian and himself that there is still some strength left in his old body. The landlord shrugs, then goes and gets back to his crossword; they both sigh in relief. It takes them a good ten minutes, but they finally manage to haul the tree up the fire escape and into her apartment. Giles’ apartment is far too crowded and cluttered already, and the tree is mostly for the creature’s sake anyways. Once inside, she shakes the snowflakes from her fringe, shivering a little. They work together to get the tree propped up against the wall, and then both collapse down onto the couch.

They sit in silence as Elisa lets a wave of bittersweet nostalgia pass over her, but it’s interrupted by the creature who soundlessly emerges from the bathroom, his interest piqued by the noises and the profound smell of the tree. He ignores Giles, even Elisa, and walks up to the tree, sniffs it, touches it gingerly but quickly pulls his hand back when the pine needles prick his fingers. He hisses and steps back, his stance shifting from curious to defensive. Elisa stands, places a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

_Christmas tree._ She signs, fingers alive and wide with cheer when he turns to her and blinks confusedly. In the weeks leading up to the holidays, she had showed him pictures from magazines, and they even caught some parts of _White Christmas_ on TV, so he should be vaguely familiar with the concept. He chirps in response and seems to settle.

Getting the tree up is surprisingly easy after all the difficulties of getting it home. They manage to get it screwed into the base securely with a tree skirt around it to collect any fallen pine needles while the creature watches cautiously from a safe distance. Giles sinks down on the couch once again, lazily stretches his legs out and breathes, wiping at his forehead dramatically. Elisa plops down next to him a few seconds later, her sleeves slightly torn and covered with evergreen bristles. She smells very nature-y, like she’d been walking around in a forest. The creature seems to like it; he inches closer to her.

After catching his breath, Giles untangles the Christmas lights that would go on the tree first, and wraps them carefully around the branches before Elisa plugs them into the outlet that’s hidden perfectly behind the tree. When the small red, green and yellow bulbs start to glow the creature’s eyes widen in fascination and he cautiously moves closer. The reflections of the lights stain his eyes with warm tones as he leans in to inspect them. He cocks his head to the side with a curious trill and his own bioluminescence starts to imitate the string of bulbs, shifting from fiery crimson to vivid green to intense yellow.

“Look at that, I guess he really does light up like a Christmas tree when you’re around, my dear.” Giles chuckles, mesmerized by the creature’s impressive display. The creature’s eyes meet hers, enthralled and content, and she feels warmth shoot through her at how very entrancing he looks in this moment.

She has to take a few moments before moving to dig out all the ornaments; unable to hold her hand back from brushing along his scaled shoulder on the way. The creature turns and watches her as she rummages through the piles of old boxes in the corner behind the couch. A few seconds later Elisa peeks her head out from behind the three huge carton containers of decorations that are currently threatening to topple over. She’s looking for a place where she can safely put the ornaments and finally dumps them unceremoniously on the floor. She sits down next to the boxes, starts going through them and the creature joins her, fascinated by the shiny baubles, tapping them softly with his claws and looking at his malformed reflection with a frown on his face. All of the ones getting put on the tree go in one pile, and the ones they decide to skip this year go back into the boxes.

Even with the soft, festive melodies coming from her record player, decorating the tree takes far longer than either of the them would’ve guessed. From Elisa almost stepping on a stray bauble and breaking it, to Giles holding one of his hands out like a tight-rope walker as he fights to stay balanced on his tiptoes while hanging another decoration on the top third of the tree, but the task is finally finished twenty minutes later. The tree is glowing like a miniature sun in her dim living room, sucking all the light to its corner as they admire it. Strings of multicolored lights twinkle amidst shiny silver garlands; new ornaments glisten next to paper snowflakes and vintage rummage sale finds. The overall effect is a tree that is uniquely _theirs_.

Giles is standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and leaning back, looking up and down the tree, scrutinizing. He steps forward and adjusts a branch, and smiles, satisfied. He is very pleased with the way his arrangement of the variations of glass baubles turned out. The number of royal blue ones and see-through ones with glittery golden patterns is even, and the little golden stars that he sprinkled throughout the tree match the other ornaments perfectly. The only thing that is still missing is the big star on the top.

As it turns out, even Giles himself can’t reach the top. Elisa looks at him, and then at the creature. He’s so much taller than them, he could easily reach the highest branch. She hands him the ornament, and he timidly takes it from her, palming it gently while gazing back at her. She points to the top of the tree and nudges him forward. He stretches and awkwardly, but successfully puts the star in place.

“It’s a good thing we kept him… he’s _very_ useful,” Giles remarks jokingly.

The creature looks at them for confirmation before pulling back his hand, and they both nod with a smile. They stand shoulder to shoulder as they look up at the blinking lights that led up to the bright star at the top.

* * *

When Giles leaves to tend to his own Christmas preparation, she puts on a pot of hot chocolate and changes the record to have some background noise while she wraps her presents. The apartment suddenly feels empty with Giles gone and the creature having retreated to the tub. As she wraps the creature’s present carefully, she’s starting to second-guess herself and her choice. Every time she thought she had something appropriate, the idea suddenly seemed ridiculous. Adding to this problem was the simple fact that this year she didn’t have nearly as much money as she had last year—and even that wasn’t much—having spent the most of it on fish and eggs for him. So many things had changed since last Christmas and she simply couldn’t afford to spend a fortune on something amazing, no matter how much she wanted to.

She settled on three little midnight blue heart-shaped crystals— _azurites_ , as the old lady who sold them had informed her—that she spotted while wandering around the Christmas market a few weeks before. He liked shiny things, and it was definitely more meaningful than a carton of eggs. She had no idea what he would do with them, but at least they would look nice in the bathroom. They were pretty, and reminded her of the creature with their blue hues and shades and the way they sparkled whenever the light shone on them. Still, as she places them into a little box, they just don’t seem worthy of him, or how she feels about him. She wonders if any gift could be.

Shopping for Zelda was easier, she loved cookbooks, she was always on the lookout for recipes to try with her Brewster, but even that felt cheesy and unfit, given how much Zelda has done for her in the past few months. For Giles, she a book, _Art and Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial Representation_ by Ernst Gombrich. Even though she always thought his paintings were perfect as they were, he was rarely satisfied with his work. He especially struggled with the facial expressions, and she hoped it would help him get those smiles just right.

* * *

But there is one gift that she wants to give the creature _now_ ; she doesn’t want to—she can’t wait until tomorrow morning. The moment seems to be perfect; he’s lounging on the couch with her, but his eyes are still fixated on the tree, fingers moving from time to time to make one of the baubles swing. She’s been looking forward to this all day; the thought has been nagging in the back of her mind at the tree farm, while they decorated the tree, when she felt a tinge of guilt, wishing that Giles would leave already.

Slowly, she rises from the couch, swaying her hips all the way to grab his attention as she drags the front of her skirt up, exposing her silk stockings along with a terrifyingly expensive pair of dark blue, lacy underwear. She chuckles, she knows he might not understand that it’s for him, that she’s wearing it for him and him only. It’s her gift to him, and to herself—she had never felt this sensual in her life and the feeling is exhilarating. Taking a moment to pull her sweater over her head, she tosses it to the side and she swears she can hear his breath hitch. She moves her hands to unbutton and unzip her skirt, letting it fall to the floor and pool around her legs, her underwear now fully exposed. The material stands in stark contrast with her soft, pale flesh. He reaches out and runs a hand from her shoulder, down the dip before the rise of her hips, fingering the delicate fabric around her waist. Involuntarily, she shudders. She feels his claw graze her, creating small holes in her stockings, his fingers moving to wherever they feel skin. He pinches and pulls the stockings away from her skin with a snap, trying to get it out of the way, groaning in frustration. With a gentle smile, she decides to help him in his misery and tugs them down her legs so that they join her skirt on the floor.

Finally, he stands and the low noise he’s making turns into a rumbling growl as she places his hand on her breast, full and warm and heavy, her nipples peaked with want under the thin, see-through fabric. She looks up into his face, his body is aglow with lust. She grabs his hand and starts pulling him toward the bed that looks so inviting, bathed in the warm glow of the Christmas lights. She stops for a moment and thinks; they never made love on the bed before. The bathtub is the usual place for that, where they don’t have to hurry. They did it once on the couch because the tub proved to be too far away, once on the dining table and once on the kitchen counter while waiting for the eggs to boil. Her cheeks turn pink at the memory. _Half an hour will be more than enough_ , she thinks to herself as she showers him in kisses on the way and then slowly pushes him down on the mattress, which bounces under their weight as she moves up on his lap. Then she is straddling him, her almost naked body pressing down hard against his.

She reaches behind her back, eyes never leaving his and unsnaps her bra. It falls forward, catching on the suspenders. She reaches between her breasts and pulls it off, dropping it to the floor. He traces along the inner side of her thigh, light enough to cause tiny bumps of reaction to appear on the sensitive skin. At the top of her thigh, he lingers, his thumb sweeping over her heated, sweat dampened skin. She looks down at him, and he gives her a smile, barely there, just really an upturn to the corner of his mouth, accompanied by his gills fluttering slightly. He is drinking in the sight of her, lithe and nude except for her panties. She wants to be mad when his claws tear through the lace, ruining the underwear completely, but she can’t when his soft eyes roam across her curves the way they do, as if seeing every line of her body for the first time. She is completely bare for him. Hit from behind with light; she’s a painting of a saint. He watches her, a look of awe and love in his eyes, and she tries to convey the same to him. A smile bursts upon her beautifully flushed face, unable to hide her content.

Her hands start to wander over his neck to his shoulders, digging her nails into his scales until his head slumps forward into her chest. His mouth wet on her collarbone before he drags it up her throat, and she can feel lips, tongue and teeth. A soundless whimper falls from her lips and her head tilts back, he can see the flush crawling up her chest and further up to her neck. She didn’t think it possible, but she feels her need become even more insistent. Her legs curl around his waist almost painfully and her fingers scrape lines of lust down his back. She gasps, a light little intake of breath, but to him, that’s the sweetest sound. She catches her lips in his, opening her mouth to him in a silent command.

_Taste me. Know me._

Then she starts to move. The drag is so good, so intense that he has to close his eyes as she grinds into his lap over and over again, his pleased groans giving her goosebumps. She rolls her hips and he pushes back. He is ready now, she can feel his growing hardness pressing against her thigh and suddenly he’s inside of her, filling her. It feels like he is under her skin, as if he is a part of her, and in the dim light she can’t tell where she ends and he begins. She moans and welcomes the burning sensation, craves it even, because it feels good, he feels good inside of her, and it's too much and not enough at the same time. The two of them move together in perfect sync, timing as exquisite as that of the blinking lights on their tree.

She kisses his forehead and tugs him in deeper with her legs. Her fingers massage his shoulders, and along his back, down lower, where the ridge of his fins ends, almost to his bottom. But they stop just before, and tease their way back up, until they reach the nape of his neck. He moves against her slowly, and she meets each of his thrusts. His hips rise and fall, the sounds of their bodies connecting echoing in the room. The corroded walls are alive with their faint shadows dancing over them and the bed groans in time now, headboard not quite too far from the wall to avoid thunking with each thrust.

In he moves, his body below her, her body around his, connected and hot and so very lovely. Each time he surges through her, a loud moan of approval comes forth. Encouraging him to move faster, she moves one of her hands to the back of his head. He thrusts up and matches her rhythm, his hands finding her hips again and pulling her down harder each time she rocks down. Her body grows tighter and tighter, muscles flexing and pulling taut, skin slick with sweat and prickling with the brush of his scales. An especially satisfying groan his only warning, he sits up, bracing all of his weight on one strong arm and changing the angle of his hips, and each thrust hits her in just the right spot, causing little jolts of pleasure to wash through her with every movement. She pushes at his chest until he lies back down, the angle of him inside of her is even better like this, and her hips begin to move on their own accord. Heat sparks up her spine and then down again, and she braces herself against his chest as she leans forward, and he makes a thin, startled noise as she tightens around him. Her fingers caress everything within reach as he hits that sweet spot inside her.

It could be five minutes or an eternity; she isn’t entirely sure, but he turns her over with a swift move, her back on the soft mattress with him on top. He is holding his weight off her, but his scales are pressed closely to her skin, their bodies tangled into one. And then, he starts back up slow, hips moving languidly and slowly, like the tide rising onto the shore—washing over her in tandem. She tightens her legs around his waist as he thrusts into her, and she can feel that familiar tension coiling at the base of her spine. Up and down until there is nothing but the sweet roll and cresting of his pelvis, thrusts deep and profound, as consuming as all the rivers that have ever flowed on this earth. Her right hand snakes between their bodies, finding that spot that always gives her ecstasy. She falls, caught in the motions, feeling the pull and drag of currents. Her breath hitches, as though it is the last time she will inhale before she drowns, and she internally begs to sink down into the pool that is her own pleasure.

She hasn’t closed her eyes the entire time, intent on soaking up every ounce of his reactions to her body, even as her back arches and her walls grip him tighter, she only pinches her brow in concentration, and doesn’t give in to the almost innate urge to close her eyes and shut off their connection. Her body tenses and her hands are looking for something that she can grip. Her fingernails dig into the sheets, which feel strange, almost foreign under her touch.

And like a wave, there is a limit; a time at which it becomes too much, collapsing in on itself, feeding its water back into the ocean. He keeps going until her back is arching with each upward stroke and she's moving restlessly beneath him. Her arousal begins to peak, when he lets out a stiff groan, and begins to spill inside of her. She wants to join him in that moment. The feeling of his warmth trickling inside of her pushes her to that last strand she needs.

His chest is rising and falling visibly with every breath that floods in and out of him, and she feels a flash of pride at his current state. She did this. He settles slowly, his hips making absent twitches as he collapses on top of her. His forehead drops to her shoulder. She lets him slump against her, tiny aftershocks of her orgasm shivering through her, and she palms the back of his head, pulls him to her and kisses him, a breathless slide of tongue and lips.

* * *

She breathes in, and the room smells of sex and warmth and it smells of them. She breathes out and curls her fingers around the sheets. A shiver reminds her of the line of coolness along her spine that is exposed the chilly morning air. The sheets are damp against her skin when she stretches on the bed that suddenly feels so big and empty without him.

A knock on the door shakes her out of her pleasant thoughts. Elisa quickly jumps from the bed and gets to hiding all the evidence of last night’s activities, which proves to be quiet challenging as she can’t see her torn panties anywhere. She hopes that Giles wont spot them either. She barely has time to get dressed, as evidenced by her slightly unkempt knitted cardigan (probably worn earlier in the week) and her grey shirtdress (definitely worn earlier in the week).

The creature is already standing by the door when she goes to open it. She’s unable to hold back the smirk on her face when she sees him, but she tamps down on the blush she can feel trying to crawl up her neck. When she opens the door, Giles is standing there with one of his hands behind his back, not so subtly hiding his presents.

Within minutes, they're all sitting around the Christmas tree opening presents with hot cocoa in Giles and Elisa’s hands, and eggs in the creature’s. Giles hands her a painting covered in wrapping paper that’s decorated with cats wearing Santa hats. He had worked on it for weeks, rolled it up carefully, but he still felt uncertain about it and apologized for not getting her something better. The painting is of her and the creature, but it’s different than all the others he’d done before. It’s bursting with color; he ditched the charcoal and went in with the aquarelles, the gouaches and probably many other types of paint that she can’t name to create the masterpiece that she’s now holding in her hands. She already knows where she’ll hang it. The creature leans in and touches it, his wet finger creates a tiny smudge on the paper, but it looks like a deliberate artistic choice. He looks at her, then points at her with his index finger. He quickly snaps his fingers together in a swiping motion then points to himself.

_You. And me._

Why are her eyes tearing up? It's ridiculous. She mentally shakes herself and wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan.

She gets on her knees and pulls Giles into a tight hug before handing him his present. He’s overjoyed at the sight of the book, starts scanning through it immediately, mumbling to himself about how it will help in his artistic resurgence. And then only _his_ present remains. She pulls the little box from under the Christmas tree, takes his hand and places it in his palm. With a nod, he encourages him to open it, and his claws rip through the decorative wrap with ease. She sits tense and thrilled, almost not daring to look at his reaction. He fingers the small stones and looks up at her with a surprised expression on his face. He lifts one of the little azurites from the box; it’s almost the same shade as his eyes. Then he looks back into the box and sees that there are two more. With his other hand, he pulls one out and drops it in her hand, then repeats the process and gives the remaining one to Giles. Now they each have a little heart-shaped stone resting between their fingers. Teary-eyed, Giles thanks him with a pat on his head and the creature is suddenly flashing with radiant blue light. With her free hand, she turns his face towards her and places a quick peck on his lips, and it takes all her strength to hold back, but Giles is there and she’s already blushing.

When she pulls back, she feels her toes curl from the happiness that washes over her and presses closer to him. She feels glad and merry and loved and wishes she could somehow preserve this moment forever, because she doesn’t think she’s ever felt more complete.


	9. Kissing

The tub is filled to the brim, glistening green algae covering the surface. Wrapped in the soothing embrace of the water, her eyes are still closed to block the sunlight in her eyes, but when she feels the gills on his neck tickle her skin, she breathes a sigh of content and her eyelids flutter open. His head is resting on her chest, submerged. He’s lying on her with the full weight of his upper body, but she revels in the feeling. His arms are tight around her waist, his lower body is awkwardly turned to the side, his bent legs are propped up against the side of the tub; that’s the only way they both fit in there in this position.

When a stray bubble escapes his mouth, and makes its way to the surface, she looks down at his lips and his closed eyes, then her gaze travels down to his slightly parted lips once more; this time she licks her own. She can’t resist gently tracing the line of his bottom lip with her index finger. God, those lips. Memories of their first kiss flood her mind. She remembers every detail; how she had wondered about the taste of him for days, how she was sure they were smooth, so unlike the rough dryness of the few men she'd kissed in her life; how they were indeed obscenely soft when she first touched them with her own and how she couldn’t get enough of them ever since. She lets her head fall back against the tub and her eyes drift closed once more.

* * *

She had been thinking about this moment for days and now she was finally standing naked before him, utterly vulnerable and open. His eyes were cataloguing each freckle and mole, the goosebumps that trailed along her skin, the blush that colored her chest and cheeks and the scars on her neck. But he was completely still. Glorious. Beautiful. _Hers_. Something about the way he looked at her or the innocent curiosity she knew was behind it, made her melt.

She trembled with excitement, but felt tension emanating from him. She stepped closer, the water sloshed around her legs as she moved, then took his hand and unashamedly placed it on her chest, right above her heart. He lit up at her touch just like he did before, his sinewy chest pulsating with color. His thumb gingerly rubbed the strip of naked skin between her breasts. This time, she didn’t run away from his touch, she sighed instead, then leaned in ever so slightly, giving permission. Her own fingertips, light as a feather, moved to trace down his chest, seeking out his faded scars, the testaments to the life he lived before. She fingered each one, memorizing the shape of claw marks, old bruises that never healed properly and she wondered what or who might have caused him such harm that even _he_ wasn’t able to make those scars disappear. He watched her inspect him, holding his breath, both set of lungs ceasing to work for a moment. She could only hope that he liked the way she touched him, because she never wanted to take her hands off him again. Her eyes were focused and intense, like she was searching for long-hidden answers to ancient riddles somewhere in his scales. She kept her eyes on his to make sure it was all right as her fingers ran along his veiny chest once more.

Then she lifted her hand and trailed her fingertips down the curve of his jaw to his chin. His eyes were open wide as she reached up to touch his lip. They were meant for tearing things apart, but they looked quite good for kissing. Closer they were even more beautiful, there, she could make out the light crinkled lines, the complexity of the different shades of dusky pink, so much darker than the greenish yellow, almost golden tint that surrounded his mouth and nose. She wanted to feel his lips, to taste them, to claim them; and consume every drop of the sensation with inexorable greed.

She simply leaned forward, stood on her tiptoes and gently brushed her lips against his cheek, bringing their bodies closer. To him, the gesture's warmth and intimacy were strange, but he relaxed. Everything about human displays of affection must have been new to him, and in a sense, to her as well: blood rushed to her head, and her toes tingled under the lukewarm water; for a moment she felt nothing else but his cool scales against her skin as she pressed her body to his. She was warm, though, and when he wrapped an arm around her she let herself melt against his body. She felt both hyperaware of everything about the body in front of her–his prickly, wet scales, the wiry muscles of his chest and shoulders–and numb in her own skin.

She brought a hand to the back of his neck, hoping he understood what she ached for.

_Please, before I lose my nerve_.

Slowly, she brought her mouth closer and closer. His forehead furrowed in the endearingly confused way that it did, but he didn’t have time to do anything before she pressed a tender kiss to his lips. He didn’t close his eyes at first; she could feel his gaze on her. He drew a sharp, surprised breath, his body going rigid when he felt her lips graze his. He tasted like saliva and fruits that have been marinating in saltwater for a while, with a hint of something she couldn’t quite place.

She leaned forward again and immediately brought her lips to his. This time, he was more prepared. The sensation of her smooth lip, her breath against his mouth, didn't overwhelm him completely. As he relaxed into the give and take of soft kisses, she allowed her lips to linger; when she trailed the tip of her tongue slowly over the swell of his upper lip, she earned another surprised hitch of breath and his fingers tightened against her hips. She traced his lip with her tongue, trying to take it slowly. Her motions were curious, no clear goal evident. She was just testing the waters, seeing what she was dealing with. No matter his learning curve, he still needed time to figure this out. Her kisses fell on the corners of his mouth, two on each side before she was brave enough to tease at his lower lip again. His mouth opened instinctively, he slowly parted his lips until the tips of their tongues touched for the first time. She was surprised to find that his tongue was longer than a human’s, its texture a little more rough but not unpleasant in the slightest. She silently gasped against his mouth, but didn’t pull away.

He was a quick learner, tilting his head as their lips pressed together again with less precision. But his touch was still cautious, calculated. She wished she could’ve said the same, but she had wanted this for so long. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck; his lips were so soft and sweet, but she didn’t want to frighten him off, so she tried to control her breaths and keep everything slow. She pushed forward, fingertips tracing gentle circles on the nape of his neck, right above his dorsal fins, as she savored the salty taste on his lips. After a few seconds he turned his head to the other side, tentatively pushing against her. She broke away first; shivering, breathing shallow and ragged, lips slick and red. He retracted his claws and reached out to touch her lips with the pads of his fingers; she inhaled deeply, the way he did it combined with their direct eye contact was so effortlessly erotic. His eyes were dark and intense, his own breath coming short and tight in the space between them. She smiled and sighed contentedly, pleased at his reaction, which only made her want more of the kisses that turned to wet presses of lips and swallowed growls.

She kissed his neck down to his collarbone, to his chest and his ridiculously defined abs while her hands ran all over his back, one of them dipped lower until she was palming his ass, cupping and squeezing the perfect curve that fascinated her as much as his lips, if not more. He responded with soft grunts, and his bioluminescence followed the path of her mouth, glowing a little brighter when she found a sweet spot where his gills connected to his neck. When she kissed him on the mouth again, a little more boldly this time, he returned it just enough. Her hands curled into his waist and held him in place, kissing him fully but carefully. He caught on quickly, growing bolder himself, as he groaned with pleasure and kissed back. She pulled him in as he growled softly at the wet slide of tongues and the occasional bump of teeth when she got overzealous. This time, she pressed closer and gently scarped her teeth along his bottom lip and then traced along sharp line of his teeth with tentative swipes of tongue. His hands slid down her sides and tightened around her hips.

She held on, one hand snaked up to his jaw and the other was placed firmly on his shoulder to steady him, offering guidance in the form of kisses of her own and soundless moans of pleasure when he got it right. His tongue was still sending clever little thrills up her spine and making her pant when a jolt of excitement brought her back from the edge of incoherency the second she felt something hard brush against her hip; a definite indication that he was just as ready for more as she was.

* * *

Just as her right hand starts to itch with desire to move down between her legs, he stirs and raises his head from under the water. He blinks in the morning light, closing his eyes fully the first time, which is then followed by a few more lazy blinks with his golden secondary eyelids. He lifts himself slightly off her, lets out a chirrup before placing a drowsy peck on her lips.


	10. Doing Something Hot

He’s been restless all day, fidgety and off-balance, tension scraping at the back of his throat and grumbling distractingly under his scales. She tried to ground him, tried to distract him from whatever was irking him, but nothing could hold his attention for long. She usually keeps him engaged with signing lessons or showing him things on Giles’ television or in magazines, but today the minutes drag on, syrup-slow and unbearable. When his sulking finally gets too much for her, Elisa stands from the desk to mind her own business, slightly irritated by his behavior. But then he’s following her around the apartment, wet footsteps trailing behind the thumping of her shoes. When she looks back at him, his eyes are pinned on her, dark and piercing, like a predator stalking its prey.

Involuntarily, lick of flame travels down her center to pool between her legs, the air escapes from her lungs in a hitched breath. The urge tingles in her fingers as she places her hand on his chest and smiles up at him, and tingles in other places. The urge to make him groan in surprise, and then hopefully growl deep in his throat, slip his delightfully long tongue into her mouth, and wrap a hand around her waist.

One step forward, a flash of determination across her face, and it’s too late for her. She’ll get his attention now. A clumsy touch of the lips quickly turning into a possession of her mouth; so sweet and deep and stirring she moans, giving herself away with the smallest of sounds. When she steps back to look at him, his bottom lip is swollen and wet from the fevered nibbling she'd been doing and he's the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. With a dancer’s pirouette, she turns and steps up on the little ledge in front of the huge, arched window, leans lazily against it. He gives a grunt of surprise that makes her grin through the fog of desire. A sharp and exotic scent fills her nose; with her mouth open she’s gasping for breath while his sharp teeth are moving to nip at her throat ever so gently, right below the three little lines; he’s leaning on her with the full weight of his sinewy muscles. She is pressed against the smooth, cool glass, the heft of his body holding her in place, his hands are fumbling with her clothes, tearing at her brown sweater impatiently. She is grateful that she’s crushed so tight against the glass, otherwise she would slip to the ground. Sending a lick of nerves down her torso, his smothered, desperate noises make the wetness between her legs turn to a flood while her hands are mapping him urgently until he pushes himself even closer to her; her hands now trapped and flattened against the window as she wriggles to urge him on.

She pushes him back a bit, just a few inches so she can get rid of her clothes. Slowly, gradually, she lifts her sweater over her head, putting on a little show for him. The dark brown wool glides smoothly across her creamy skin, like warm hot cocoa. She throws it away so that it ends up on the backrest of a dining chair. She swallows, never taking her eyes away from his as her hands move to get rid of her silken shirt. Her own fingers brush her cleavage as she unbuttons it. She glides her shoulders out of the fabric, which then lands on the floor next to his webbed feet, leaving her upper body open and exposed except for her bra. She gives him the coyest of smiles as she haltingly removes her stockings, then finally banishes her bra to somewhere far away in the room. When it hits the floor, she pulls down her skirt along with her underwear and she’s shameless, naked and arching her back against the glass, offering herself to him. She’s unable to hold back the sigh of relief that escapes her lips when she joins him in his naked state.

Her toes dangle from the ledge as she leans closer. She trails a hand upward and over his taut chest, kisses his shoulder, brown hair spilling over his blue scales as she works her way up. Her caresses are followed by kisses, pulsing blue and pink light and heavy land-breaths. She kisses along the gills on his neck, his sweet spot. His hands curl around her hips in response and squeeze. Her own fingers travel dangerously down on his body, until she can just about feel what she’s looking for, but when she gets carried away and bites down on his lower lip in the process, he lets out a half-swallowed groan and she feels her back hitting the cold glass of the window as he abruptly and forcefully pushes his body forward. The unpleasant feeling barely registers in her mind; he’s got his head buried in the crook of her neck, his gills tickling the skin on her cheek. His warm breath prickles and teases her skin, eliciting goosebumps on her arms, scaring away the chill she feels on her back. She can’t control the little gasps that break free from the deepest parts of her throat in the wake of his touch. She shudders against the window as his lips work their way all over her neck, and with clouded eyes she watches as he turns his attention to her chest; his mouth leaving a wet trail across her collarbone. Her head is swimming in the unholiest of thoughts as she encourages him with noises of pleasure and her hands digging into the scales on his back. She almost loses it when he glances up at her with a look of pure adoration, but then he’s sinking lower and lower, until he’s kneeling in front of her on the small ledge, his legs on both side of her feet. There is a certain kind of hesitation in his eyes as he pushes his defined chin against her belly, perhaps asking for permission. She can do nothing but nod her head, her disheveled locks falling into her face.

_Please._

It's a primordial instinct to reach out and touch her, to gather her in, and hold her against him. She's hot to the touch, so unlike him, enough that it feels like it's burning his scales, but he doesn't let go. On an impulse, he lets his previously retracted claws roam her thighs and behind, lets her feel their sharp points, and she makes a needy noise. She can’t think anymore. Her legs tremble on their own accord when his head moves between her thighs; lips working against the most sensitive parts of her. She lets her head fall back against the window, gives herself over to the feel of his inhumanly long tongue exploring her. But he knows exactly what he’s doing, he’s learned to swim in her riptide a long time ago. He unhinges his jaw a little, and then his tongue is stretching out and he pushes the extra length into her. When his tongue breeches her, sliding into her body with ease, she twists her fingers on his shoulder, trying to get a grip, holding him against herself.

His moves are torturously slow, he’s curling and stretching his tongue inside her and she can’t stop whimpering, dripping out almost faster than he can lap up. He stays away from her swollen bud of nerves, even though he knows it’s what she wants, taking his time to circle his tongue, reaching inside her as deep as he can. He can’t get to the spot he wants, so he growls in frustration, making her moan again as a new flood of wetness coats his tongue.

He wants to devour her, to keep the flavor of her in his mouth forever, so he buries his tongue in her as deep as he can, pushing into her in one slow twist until she lets out a wanting whine, and he raises his eyes to see her watching him with a glazed expression. She’s sure that if she keeps looking at him and what he’s doing to her, it’s going to be over within seconds, but she can’t keep her hips from bucking against his mouth, and when he finds _that one spot_ with a swipe of his tongue, her left leg involuntarily hooks around his shoulder, pulling him even closer.

Despite every primal instinct in him telling him to don’t stop, he pulls away before she can come. Her breath hitches as she tries to pull him back against her, and when she fails, she tries to move her own fingers to her center. She can feel her blood rushing hot beneath the surface of her skin, she’s flushed, a beautiful rosy color coating her ears and cheeks that runs down all the way down her chest, to the hard tips of her nipples. He swats away her hand and dives back in, keeps licking into her, focusing his attention wherever he gets the best noises out of her, makes her thighs clench around him.

Her heart is racing, her whole body is trying to buck up from his hold, and she is so, so wet, and so, so hot. Because of him. For him. She’s his, his, his. Then everything stills for a moment and she’s there. He lets one large webbed hand drift from the curve of her hip over to her swollen center, and when he brushes a circle around it one, two, three times—she’s coming, hard. Her walls tighten around his tongue, and he’s surrounded by her scents, coating his mouth and nose and chin, and it’s so good, good, good. Something sweet, with a hint of something murky, something that’s so _her_ , enveloping his senses and he wants more. He etches it onto his lips. Memorizes it further. More than he already has. She growls, her back arching off the glass as her climax rocks through her, and he can feel the strength of it against his mouth.

He rests his cheek against her hipbone, fingers wrapped around the back of her knee while she caresses his head. He’s hard and his whole being feels electrified, rose colored and gold streaks of light racing impetuously under his scales, but it’s not as important as the way she’s letting him touch her. He holds her through the aftershocks then pulls back, watching her. She’s delightfully pink everywhere, her whole body trembling with a faint sheen of sweat, hair in a mess, chest heaving and legs splayed open for him. He leans in once again, for one last taste, relishing her twitch when he does, then moves up to kiss her on the mouth. To her pleasure, he lacks the inclination to wipe his mouth, so he shares her taste with her.

She pulls back, closes the space between the tips of her fingers on both hands, makes a pinching motion before touching her hands together.

_More._

Her legs are weak, still trembling. The pulse in her throat continues to flutter, and she feels heated despite the cold condensation trickling down her back, her skin sweetly flushed. She bites her lip to conceal her whimpering as she awaits his next move. She watches him bend his knees, she can see the glint of a smile tugging on his lips before he picks her up with one swift movement. He is so strong, he moves her as if her weight is nothing to him, lifting her arse smoothly, her back flat against the window, the discomfort of its cold dampness barely felt as she is fiercely focusing on the rough slide of him against her body. She twines a leg around his hip and rubs herself against him, needing friction where she aches the most, and shudders when she feels the drag of something very hard and substantial. With one hand, she reaches down between them and when she finds his cock, and curls her fingers around the straining length, the gasping, biting mouth on her throat pauses, a ragged, utterly delicious groan escaping with a shudder. Then she moans in pleasure as he delves, dabbling between her folds, tracing the shape of her, probing and teasing.

His hands are cool and big on her bare behind and she clutches his shoulders with her own, kisses him and smiles and lets herself get lost in the moment until he's inside her, filling her so much she thinks she'll never feel hollow again. She tries to ease off, to calm herself so she can savor it, but she’s too roused, panting and whining into his mouth when he lets her come up for breath. _Go slow. No, go fast._ She bravely opens her eyes, her hands moving to cup the sides of his face, mindful of the gills there, to let him see what he is doing to her, as raw and open as her body wrapped around his. His beautiful eyes are liquid black supernovas of heat. Then she bites his shoulder, enjoying the slightly salty taste of him, the unexplainable, very lush scent in her nose so enticing she sighs and kisses the little hollow beneath his chin. His claws dig into the curve of her hips, raking the swell of her buttocks, teeth bared. Pain is flaring over her back from the cold, hard glass against her skin, but there is a very pleasant heaviness between her thighs. She watches his hand drift lazily down to where they are joined and feels the guttural sound he makes as a puff of hot air on her throat.

But his breaths are getting heavier and heavier, and even with her clouded eyes she can see they’re not a product of pleasure. She’s close again, but she wriggles her legs until he puts her down and her toes touch the ground. She can’t help chasing his mouth, whining a little at the loss of contact when she feels him slip out of her. She struggles not to frown and flushes at his steady gaze, hears him hiss. She needs him, but he needs his water and she can’t bear to see him struggling to breathe just to give her bliss. His eyes are questioning; shoulders slightly hunched.

After quickly signing _water_ , she pushes him towards the bathroom with both hands on his chest. He stumbles backwards, pulls her with himself and doesn’t let go until they reach the algae covered tub. He steps in and she follows, their bodies perfectly in synch as he lowers himself, chest heaving and gills fluttering when he finally breathes under the surface. She hovers over him, trying to hold herself back, giving him time to recover in his element. But his body is reacting to her fingers tracing patterns across his torso. They are random, occasionally straying down just beyond the lower set of plates on his abdomen. And when they do, his muscles tighten and his legs instinctively spread apart, urging the hand to move further down to where he wants it, pushing his hips upward.

She leans down, arching slowly into him, rocking her breasts against his chest. He lifts up his head to meet her halfway as she kisses him, gently, on the forehead and then on the lips. He shoves his thigh between her legs as payment and looks up at her, briefly, and she smiles. Her nails scrabble against his shoulders, she’s rolling her hips into the press of his thigh and sighs. She pushes him under and waits for him take a few more watery breaths. When he emerges, she pulls back, slowly, curving her spine to drag it out. His breathing is getting deeper and deeper, he is growing restless, unsure of what to do with his hands, still tentative from time to time when it comes to touching her. She sucks in a long breath and his hand slowly rises from the water and rubs against her rib cage.

Feeling experimental, her hands leave his chest and she curls her fingers around the edge of the tub, lifts herself carefully. The movement is clumsy, but she manages to turn around and switch position. She turns her head and locks eyes with him over her shoulder as she grinds her hips into him; teasing. His teeth are bared and his jaw thrust forward, his eyes dark with desire. The water is alight with golden hues and she wants to light up with him until she pops, wants to burn bright.

His hands work up and down her back, goosebumps trailing after his touch when the fins on his arms caress her, while his legs are twitching under her fingers and she loves the way his response makes her feel stronger. No one else could do this to him. He’s hers, hers, hers. She lets out a soft whimper and shudders with expectation as his body strains toward hers, all sinew and glowing golden scales and prominent bones. His touch never leaves her; he starts at the points of her shoulders and draws slow circles over her arms.

She throws her head back, hands grasping the edges of the tub on both sides to support herself as she rubs her ass against his length, tilting her waist to allow him access, guiding him and taking him deep with a single smooth thrust of her hips, her hands moving from the algae-covered porcelain to his knees. She eases herself down the last little bit until she is completely snug against him. His long fingers press deep into her soft skin as she adjusts to him being fully sheathed inside of her once again. Finally, she lifts off the slightest bit and makes a twirling motion with her hips; he growls as she starts undulating on top of him. His hands glide down her back, across her hips, seizing her ass in each hand, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and she’s moaning again. She curls her fingers and then her hands are splayed out on his thighs. She heaves a little sigh of pleasure, giving herself over to that sweet feeling of fullness.

She lifts and lowers, taking him deep. He’s hers, hers, hers. His hips are rising to find hers and she shivers at the prickling sensation she feels at the touch of his scales. She grounds down harder and grabs his hand, laces his webbed fingers between hers as he slowly opens her legs a bit more, as much as the bathtub allows. With his long arms it’s easy to lead his fingers to her center, and as he strokes her with cautiously retracted claws the rhythm of his hips grows ever more quick and hard under hers.

She tugs his arms, encouraging him to sit up, needing more contact. He rises slowly without dislodging from her wet heat and she immediately presses her back against his chest. He touches her knees, then cups his wet palms against her outer thighs, sliding up to her hips and then against her stomach. She arches her back as he brushes his knuckles against her belly. Wrapping his arms completely around her, he presses his lips to the curve of her spine. He feels the need to hold onto something and her breasts are an easy, tempting target, gooseflesh erupting across them as he takes a nipple between his fingers, rolls it, pulls it until she’s writhing madly against him.

She wants to look at him. She wants to roll over and face him. It's so stupid and silly of her, but she wants to kiss him. As if on cue, he turns his head so she can feel the warm air from his nose on the side of her cheek. His lips brush her skin and she wants to both huddle into him and bring her mouth to his for more. He pulls his hand away for a moment and she groans in soft frustration, her body shaking with need, until he covers her breasts with his palms again.

It's too much to do anything other than breathe him in, his scent a flavor on her tongue. He nuzzles the crook of her neck with his chin, brings his lips up to her ear as she slides against him. She has goosebumps all over her body from both pleasure and the cold air hitting her wet skin. Her nipples are taut; his mouth is against her shoulder again, and he can see what he is doing to her, just like she can feel what this is doing to him.

Everything’s overflowing, she wants to look him in the eye before she comes, she is holding herself back and it’s growing harder to do it with each motion he makes. His gaze flickers back to where he’s sliding in and out of her and she can see his mouth drop open the slightest bit. Her head falls back against him and she digs her nails into his thighs. Her body is responding before she can control it, and she wants to lose control. Her skin sweat-slick, shining, beautiful.

Her rhythm is faltering, all she needs is a little bit more to push her over the edge. His fingers, somehow, know the way – blindly, desperately, he gives her what she needs. She leans back into his chest and spreads herself open for him. Her eyes slit open, heavy-lidded but focused and she lifts her head to look at him. His gaze sends her mind spinning, dripping sweetness hidden in her face. With their eyes locked, she can feel the pleasure building and then the orgasm crashes over her like a rolling current. Her mouth is parted in a moan that makes his head drain of everything but her body squeezing him tight and he looks at her like she's the only thing that ever mattered in the whole world. He buries himself inside of her, taking over when she falls out of rhythm. Holding her up inches from his hips, slamming into her, getting lost in the sensation, in the sound, skin on scales, silent sobs, soundless praises, and quiet curses. Suddenly she feels so warm deep inside, feels cherished as she hears him pant and groan, feels him hiding his face in her hair and his strong arms holding her tightly.

It takes him mere seconds after that and then he's right there with her. He growls in his throat, and the sound all on its own, hungry and low, makes her twitch and gasp and tighten up around him. When he comes, he spills suddenly, like a wave crashing unexpectedly and she's coming around him. He’s rutting against her, the primal side of him taking over, water splashing wildly out of the tub. His body tightens with a long desperate groan that matches the intensity with which she writhes and shudders against him.

When the trembles wracking her slight frame finally subside, she gently lifts off of him, turns and collapses at his side. He is breathing hard, his skin still alive with lights from their exertions, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. She turns to face him and lays one leg over his waist as his arms sneak around her body. But she frees one hand from his embrace to sign. Touches it to her chest.

_Mine, mine, mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's ignore the several months it took me to update. Also sending my gratitude to my two betas and their filthy minds.


	11. Seducing Each Other

The creature is lounging on the couch, long legs splayed out in front of him and a white porcelain plate in his lap as he’s trying to peel the boiled eggs she made earlier with his clawed fingers. Elisa’s sitting on the bed, watching his mostly failed attempts to get rid of the egg shells with a bemused smile. She’s tired after a day of running errands around town, but more than ready to get rid of her clothes and enjoy the night with him. She wasn’t sure what came over her, but she thought about the things she would do to him later as soon as she closed the door behind herself, and then while shopping for groceries, while picking up new brushes for Giles, while waiting for the bus to finally take her back home. She’s not a teenager anymore, and she should really get a grip, she thought when she caught herself smiling a little too hard while putting several boxes of salt in her squeaky shopping cart, and yet the butterflies in her stomach were making her all nervous and giggly.

But now she’s home and it’s just her and him, alone at last. So, she stands and undresses before him, as usual. Her hands linger on every button of her dress, shifting impatiently from foot to foot in an effort to contain her eagerness; she's been waiting all day for this exact moment, and it's only getting harder. Layer after layer of clothing abandon her body to leave her bare, her breasts exposed in the faint lamp light. She leans down to shed the last of her clothing and pulls down her stockings, then straightens up slow and languid, hoping to get his attention, but he’s staring at the eggs on the plate unblinkingly. She sighs, maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight, usually he’d be all over her by now. She’s worked-up, but she can deal with it, bottle it up and save it for later.

As she reluctantly slips into her nightdress, humid mist settles upon her skin under the fabric, blurs her vision. It constricts her throat and strangles her conviction that she can resist the temptation. Her sight wanders from the floor, where her clothes lay in a heap, to the couch, to him. That body, those bones, that flesh, that scaled skin, they protect something precious, something that has become vital to her. She wants to thank it thoroughly because it has given her the chance to know the soul residing within it. A soul that she’s come to fall in love with.

Her head is going to start hurting if she doesn’t do something about the turmoil of thoughts wrestling violently within her mind. She looks away blushing faintly, but not out of shame. The creature still doesn’t seem to notice her signals, but she’s made up her mind, coming to stand in front of him, forcing him to look her right in the eye. She wants him, and she's determined to have him. She smiles to herself when his gaze finally leaves the half-peeled eggs and wanders to the strap of her nightdress that’s very close to sliding down her shoulder. She’s searching his eyes for any signs of refusal. Seeing none, she leans down and kisses him before biting his lower lip as she pulls away, taking the plate from his lap and setting it aside.

He watches as her hands begin gliding down his body at an agonizingly slow pace. She admires his body with her touch: his shoulders, his chest. Her fingertips graze the larger scales on his sides, along the part where his dark green turns into soft amber across his torso and he can’t help but suck in a breath, gasping at the contact. Lower still, her hands are on his abdominal plates and hips. She keeps going. He lets out a questioning trill, and when she looks up into his eyes, she knows exactly what’s going through his mind.

He always puts her pleasure first, at all times and can’t be persuaded otherwise. He never leaves her wanting for anything. He seems to think that everything else is an insult to her, that if he’s to take more, he is a bad mate and she shouldn’t have to disgrace herself with using her body to do things that would only please him. But she loves when the tables are turned, knowing he is wrapped around her finger. More than anything else in this moment, she wants to pleasure him. She wants to slide her tongue along his shaft, to hear him groan as she takes him into her mouth. She wants to break down what’s left of his controlled reserve, to make him as senseless with lust as he makes her. She wants to suck him almost to the point of bliss before straddling him, burying him inside her, finishing him right where he sits.

But she’s taking her time trailing the front of his muscular thighs, rubbing up and down. When she gets to his knees, she moves her hands inward. He’s been slowly getting harder since she began, but his length is still sheathed as he holds himself back and she swears she can see his cock twitching under the almost translucent plates when she gets close.

She smooths her hands along his thighs again, along the small fins that run along his legs, pushing his knees apart and he lets her. But he's shaking. She takes her hands off his thighs, runs her hand up behind his right knee instead. She kisses that knee, then squeezes it gently, encouragingly. He’s watching eagerly as she lowers her head and just as she’s about to touch him where he wants her most, she shifts, tasting the saltiness of his upper thighs instead. She smiles up at him and licks her lips deliberately. He grunts at the unexpected sharp sting of her teeth biting at his flesh, but relaxes as soon as her warm tongue swipes over his colorful markings, soothing the sensitive scales. The noises he makes go straight to her core, and she’s flooded with arousal. She presses her mouth just above the waistline. She waits… She feels his spine go tight, and he stops breathing for a second.

And then he’s ready.

Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes are pulling his gaze to hers for several long moments and keeping it as she takes his desperate, straining cock in her hand. At last, she lowers her head, her eyes holding his the whole time, and slowly, so slowly, she engulfs the head of his length with her lips. When her mouth meets the tip of his thick arousal, he jumps as much as he can, almost falling off the couch in the process. His knees are already shaking a little, hand on her shoulder digging in as she swirls her tongue around his tip before licking a delicate line along his length.

She drags her tongue slowly over the head of his cock, and then she doesn’t tease anymore, just takes him in her mouth with no build-up, no preliminaries, as deep as she can. It pries a noise out of his throat, a harsh growl. He tastes a little musky, glazed with sticky sweetness. She keeps going; her technique is slightly messy and over-eager, but she really, really wants to hear him make that sound again. Her mouth is hot and wet and with the way her tongue swirls around his length he's forced to grasp the edge of the couch with both hands just to at least somewhat control himself. But it’s hard when she moves her head the way she does, pulling back, then pushing forward, her tongue sliding along the base of him, her throat clenching around the shape of him.

He rocks into her, a steady stream of growls hissing out through clenched teeth, one hand in her hair, the other on her face, and he’s watching her the whole time, like he can’t bear to look away from her lips wrapped around him.

He can feel the brush of her hair against his thighs, and the burning heat of her mouth so close around him. She’s moving a bit faster now, fingers sliding ahead of her lips down his shaft. Her cheeks hollow, her hands working him from the base to her mouth, first in slow strokes, then fast, then slow again. It’s nearly enough to unman him. But though wildness nearly consumes him, his better instincts hold him back. She can feel him whimpering, almost begging, pleading with her for something he can’t name, but she’s merciless, only looking at him with deeper, more wicked smiles each time.

She draws back to adjust her angle, looks up along his body and meets his eyes. He reaches down with one hand and she’s expecting him to put his fist in her hair. Instead, he touches her cheek lightly, resting his fingers on her jaw where it’s stretched wide. It’s strangely tender and for a moment she doesn’t quite know what to do. She pulls her mouth away and licks at his fingertips, a thumb is dragged across her lower lip, and then slipped into her mouth for her to suck clean and nip at before letting go. She kisses the depression of his lower abdomen and then a wandering path down his hip, following the line of an old scar.

Regretfully, he reaches down to lift her away again, but his wrist is immediately caught by her hand and firmly held. She’s looking right at him defiantly, and it might just be the most wanton, shameless thing she has ever done. She can’t get enough of him. His body, his taste, everything about him makes her body hum with raw, untamed desire. Dragging her tongue against him slowly, base to tip, she relishes the subtle moans and movements he makes. Her mouth raises and lowers over him, taking him in her mouth at her own pace.

She works her lips around him, tightens her cheeks, lets them pulse against him. He grips her hand as his body spasms and growls spill out of him, choked and gasping. She tilts her head back so she can look up at him again, holds him firm and slick with her other hand. That pushes him over: his hand clenching hers harder, his thighs jerking, and his cock throbbing in her mouth. Two more strokes and he’s finished. It’s all he can do to hold still as she takes him, his body shuddering and swallows him down. She grips his hips and seals her lips around him and swallows and swallows so her throat tightens around him, wet tight suction, and he groans. After a moment she releases him and gives the head of his cock a final, thorough lick before standing.

She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and sees him watching her as she gets to her feet. She leans in close, without touching him, she can feel his puffs of air on her lips. She licks them, but then pulls back with a tempting grin. She simply puts her hands on his shoulders and climbs onto his lap until her knees rest comfortably on either side of his thighs, straddling him with a mischievous smile and she’s looking right into his eyes before she finally kisses his lips. He’s about one second away from picking her up and walking her over to the inviting bed or the less inviting, but more practical bathtub when she breaks away from his mouth to trail kisses up and down his sated face. She can feel the jagged bones of his pelvis digging into her thighs. A full-body shudder goes through her as her own needs suddenly turn more demanding.

The couch rattles under their combined weight, but she refuses to move. She pulls back, her tongue is wetting her lips and her body is moving over him in a way that promises everything he wants, finally:

_Her._

He presses his face against the curve of her shoulder and neck and breathes in deeply. She can hear it against her ear; it’s still ragged and uneven. He bites into the hem of her nightdress to expose her left shoulder.

She leans down and kisses him, rough and messy. He notices that she’s trying to dominate the kiss, and he lets her. He sneaks his hands up her nightdress, caresses her sides then reaches further up to rub the pad of his thumbs across her nipples. She jolts and forcefully pulls away from his lips when she feels electrifying pleasure surge through her body at the gentle touch. She presses her palms against his chest, fingers instinctively going over the grooves and folds of his body and then tracing the familiar paths of the bright blue markings that run down the sides of his torso. She's not kissing him now; she's busy taking him in, tracing all the hollows that pattern his upper body.

He slides his palm down her thigh where it straddles his own, slipping past the hem of her nightdress and gathering the thin material in his fist. One of her hands curls around his neck, right above where his ridge of fins begins, and she reaches between them with the other to clumsily grab her nightdress; she shrugs one shoulder out of it, and he pushes it from the other so that it falls from her body and gathers around her waist. She makes that sound when he drags his lips along her jaw, that small sound she first heard their first night together. A helpless-sounding hum from some deep, forgotten part in her throat. He clutches her more tightly, urging her up so that he can pull the nightdress up, until her thighs are bare against his lap. Then he glances up, his eyes looking like they’re filled with stars, his fingers hooked around the silky fabric, but he doesn't do anything, just gazes into her eyes, and she realizes he's asking for permission.

He lifts up her nightdress around her waist and pulls it over her head in one fluid motion. When she’s finally naked, he roughly runs his fingers over her center and she recovers quickly, grinding down against him and moaning.

Then he moves his hands to her bare body, digging into her hip bones and her eyes close at the touch. His eyes fix between her legs and he's barely even touching her now, his fingers just skimming her hips, but she can feel the arousal shooting through her spine and settling almost painfully in her groin. He leans up, bringing them closer together and leans his forehead against hers and they’re breathing each other in. But suddenly she isn’t close enough—it feels like she can never be, not even when he holds her so tightly she can feel her own pulse on his skin and yet she still can’t disappear entirely into him.

He groans when she reaches down between them and starts stroking him, tightening his grip on her hips and fighting to remain still. He tilts his head back and she leans in, her breath hot on his neck as she concentrates on the more sensitive parts of his throat. She works the blade slowly and gently, rubbing her thumb over the smooth, scaled skin. They are lost in each other, his hand creeping up her sides, fingers splayed over her ribcage. She shifts a little on his lap, and he growls and it's the most glorious sound in the world. Her heart is thrumming like a battle drum. She’s ready—more than—and normally she’d take her time, but there’s fire in her blood now, and the sigh she lets out when he thrusts up into her is high and raw and then he's inside her and she's filling him up, permeating every fiber of his being. He's tethered to her, her skin is warm and her mouth warmer, soft and insistent against his.

She grips one shoulder and the back of the couch, leaning forward for a deeper angle, and he holds her close, his hand fisting in her shift and pressing into the small of her back. He hisses as her hips are grinding down on his, needing the contact to chase her own pleasure.

When she’s on the edge, she feels him turn his head a little and press his mouth back onto her neck. Her breath is hot on his cheeks when he buries his face in her neck; the skin there is slick and salty, and with his eyes shut and a roaring in his ears, the tightness of her around him is even more intense. It’s not long before he feels his release gathering low in his belly. He starts sucking a wet bruise into the spot he knows so well. It has become his favorite thing to do after he learned what he could do to her body like this, how he can mark her soft skin to show that she’s his. She exhales, her whimpering urging him on, one of his hands gripping her ass.

He surges up, reaching blindly between them, and spends inside her with a shudder.

When he moves to pull back she presses his head back against her chest, curling her fingers around his shoulder and letting go of the couch to meet his hand with her own between their bodies. She touches herself, nails brushing against his length. He doesn’t stop moving, not until she’s come and when she does it’s with a heavy moan and warm pulses around him that leave him gasping once again, her hips finally still against his legs.

Coming back to herself is a slow process, and one she isn’t in any particular hurry to speed up. She breathes out a content sigh as she lifts herself off him and swings a leg over his thighs to settle more comfortably on his lap, her head nestled against his chin, legs spilling over one side. She feels his heartbeat slowing down, and for a moment, it seems to match her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically just some PWP ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
